Divine Humiliation
by zarah joyce
Summary: You humiliated me. I admit you played me very well. However, don't expect this to be the end. After a series of twists and turns, what will be the end of it all? FINISHED.
1. Default Chapter

Divine Humiliation 

"You could still back out, you know," he told her, his eyes glinting maliciously and his mouth twisting malevolently. 

She squinted her eyes and twitched her mouth. More than anything else, it was when someone goaded her into quitting an activity that spurred her into doing it even more. "What's the matter, Malfoy? Afraid to be seen with me?" she asked, her voice dropping lower. Hermione arched her brow at him. "I'd have you know that reverse psychology never really did work well on me. If _you_ want to quit, then all you have to do is say it."

Malfoy glared at her and took her arm. She flinched, and as she did she saw his lips quirk. "I _never _quit," he said, his hand traveling from her arm down to her hand. His skin was incredibly warm, she noticed. "You of all people should know that."

Hermione raised her chin, and when she felt his fingers over her palm she slid her hand down to entwine it with his. "You of all people should know that _I_ never quit either."

He looked down on their hands, met her eyes, and smirked. "This should be interesting." Malfoy's eyes were then drawn to something behind her, and when she glanced at where he was concentrated at he said, "What are you looking at, Weasel? And quit manhandling my girl, you bloody idiot!"

Ron's face flushed, and he opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind at the last minute. The girl in his arms squirmed, and said in a low but hearable voice, "If your hand dip _one inch lower_—"

Hermione turned away, and was unfortunately met with Malfoy's pale and pointed face. "He was _not _manhandling Pansy," she said. She could literally feel her blood boil at his accusation, and her hands poised to ball into fists. However, since one of her hands was curled intimately around his, it seemed as though she squeezed his fingers intentionally.

"And now _you're_ manhandling _me_," he said, snatching his hand away. Malfoy sneered at her. "Bloody idiots, you Gryffindors."   

"Oh!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'll have you know, you foul—"

"Ahem, ahem! Attention everyone!" 

Sending one last glare at Malfoy's direction, Hermione spun her heel and focused her attention on Professor Flitwick. The miniscule Professor was standing on a stool and was clapping his little hands to gain the interest of everyone.  "Thank you all for being here. Now, most of you are probably surprised to see me as your dance instructor, for only students of my house know how much a dance aficionado I am." He grinned. "But enough of that.  Before we officially begin I would like to know if all of you have found your partners..." He looked around, and Hermione did as well. Most of the seventh year students were standing beside their partners and only a handful were standing alone. "Ah, Miss Bulstrode, Mr. Longbottom would be joining us in a little while, do not fret. Miss Bones, I'm sure Mr. Finnegan is around here—oh, there he is! Yes, yes, join your partner." Professor Flitwick made shooing gestures with his hands. "Now—Mr. Potter! Oh, yes, Miss Zabini was just looking for you—"

Hermione looked at Harry, and kept herself from laughing when she saw his mouth curl in what was known as a poor imitation of Snape's expression. Everyone knew that Blaise had been the one who requested for Harry to be her partner. Everyone also knew that Harry detested Blaise as much as the girl adored him, and so it came as a death sentence to him when he received the news that Professor Flitwick agreed to Ms. Zabini's request.  

"Come now, Mr. Potter, take Ms. Zabini's hand… that's it, that's it, very good!" Professor Flitwick clapped again and bared his teeth in a wide smile. "Excellent, just excellent. Now, I'm sure everyone has his or her own dancing partner—yes, Mr. Malfoy?" 

She looked at her side to see Malfoy lowering his hand. He cocked his head to one side, and said, "I would like to know how come everyone else seemed to have been partnered with the person they _wanted_, whereas _I_… well…"

There were very pregnant and silent moments that passed since Malfoy spoke. Hermione felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair, and suddenly it felt suffocating and hot. Her pride screamed to be salvaged. She raised her hand. "Yes, Professor Flitwick. I want to know the reason as well, because personally I would rather face a _ferret_ than… well…"

This time, a couple of people laughed, Ron's and Harry's noticeably the loudest of them. 

"All right, that's enough!" Professor Flitwick warned, sending glances at everyone's way. He focused his attention at them again, and his face was screwed up in a reprimanding expression. "Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, I am disappointed that you had to ask this question _in front of everyone _might I add." He shook his head. "You two have been partnered for the very simple and basic reason of being the Head Boy and Head Girl this year, and _personally _I expected a more mature attitude from both of you."   

Hermione looked down at her feet, feeling herself turn a darker shade of red. She heard shuffling sounds beside her, but didn't dare look at Malfoy. 

"Now, I should warn you all that from this moment forth I would not entertain any more request for changing partners – yes, Mr. Potter, though I know I owe you my life this rule, unfortunately, includes _you_." He clapped his hand again, and a relatively loud music filled the room. "Face your partners, everyone!"

Hermione lifted her head and turned very, _very_ slowly towards her partner. His mouth was poised to open, but before he did she beat him to it. "You should be ashamed of yourself," she seethed, her mouth thinning after she spoke. "Humiliating me in front of everyone—"

"_Humiliate_?" he demanded, glaring at her. "You were the one who brought that stupid issue—"

"Ha!" she said. "And doesn't it just _flatter_ you that most of us still remember that incident as though it happened yesterday?"

"Someday," he said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it very hard. "Someday, I'll show you what it feels like to be—"

"—bounced around?" she asked innocently.

"No," he said, lips beginning to smile widely. "_Humiliated._"

Somehow the word, and the way he said it, made her feel a little nervous. _Don't be ridiculous_, she admonished herself. _What could he possibly do to me? Especially since we're in front of every seventh year student I know and a professor as well!_

"Step closer to each other, that's it…"

Professor Flitwick's voice boomed around them, but it sounded very subdued to Hermione as she noticed Malfoy stepping closer to her. Very, _very_ close. "Do you think this is close enough for Professor Flitwick?" he asked, his breath fanning across her face. _That _just proved how close he was standing in front of her. 

She swallowed, but of course she didn't show how uncomfortable she felt at his invasion of her personal space. "I suppose," she responded, turning her head away. 

"All right, now girls, I want you to place your left hand on your partner's shoulder, like this…"

Hermione bit her lip, and was terribly self-conscious of what she was doing. Her hand was trembling and she hated herself for it.  
"Come now Granger," Malfoy drawled. "The instruction was rather simple, really…"

She placed her hand on his shoulder so fast; the action produced a clapping sound. 

"Manhandling me again?" he asked, chuckling. 

Hermione could feel how his chest reverberated as he laughed. "Shh!" she hissed.

"Now extend your right arm with your hand intertwined with your partner's… oh, don't be so stiff, Mr. Potter! Relax, feel the music…"

She couldn't help it; a smile erupted from her lips, and she saw Malfoy's mouth widen as well. "I could just imagine Potter having the grandest time of his life," he said. 

That comment elicited a chuckle from her. "I could imagine Blaise as well."

"Step to the right, one, two, three, then to the left, one, two, three…excellent, Miss Parkinson, Mr. Weasley!"

Hermione rolled her eyes as she snuck a glance at Ron and the pug-faced cow named Parkinson. "It's not like this is a hard dance," she whispered. 

"You know this one?" Malfoy asked.

She blinked, and turned her attention to her partner. "What?" 

He looked vaguely amused. "I said, do you know this dance?"

She concentrated on his eyes, and noticed that in their gray depths there were some scattered black lines and blue specks. _Odd._"Yes," she answered, distracted. "But—" 

Malfoy grinned. "Good. Let's show these idiots how this is done."

She was about to say that it had been years since she saw this dance performed in front of her, but before she could speak he had stepped away from her, and not letting go of her right hand he twirled her once, twice, thrice. Feeling the music pumping within her, Hermione allowed herself to follow his movements, and in the process remembered how the dance went.  

Malfoy grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him, and she arched her back backwards as he lowered her in a dip. The dance they were doing was quite bold, and as far as Hermione knew only adults performed it, so it came as a surprise to her that he knew how to do it. As she straightened, he pushed her away, and ran his hand from the side of her face down to her hips. The touch jolted her from dancing, as she knew that _wasn't _a part of the routine, and she stopped in the midst of the song. However, her ceasing didn't hinder him from continuing. He snaked his hand around her, stepped closer, and breathed on her ear. "I thought you know how this dance goes?" he asked. 

"I _do_," she asserted, shivering as she felt his warm breath upon the sensitive skin in her ear. "But—"

"Then dance with me. Or are you _afraid_?"

The insulting tone, the insinuating words, did it. She turned sharply, until her back was facing his front, with no space at all between their bodies. She spoke, with her mouth very close to his neck, "I am _not _afraid."

"Let's just see about that."

Malfoy placed his hands on the sides of her waist, and she swayed left, right, feeling him do the same. Hermione stepped forward, and turned on her own, until she felt him stand near her. As she turned, she extended her hand, and he grabbed it, entwining his fingers with hers. She stopped twirling, and together they stepped to the right three times, and then to the left, three times again. They faced one another, and boldly, Hermione mimicked his action with a few modifications of her own. She ran her hand from his face down to his chest and stomach, and stopped just on the top of his belt buckle; never looking away from his eyes as she did. _Take that, ferret._

He quirked his brow. "Interesting," he breathed.

She smiled. "I'm just getting started."

True to her word, Hermione was the one who stepped closer to him this time. She placed a hand on the back of his head, and the other on his waist, and drew her face to his neck, breathing on his skin. He answered by moving his hands to her hips, and they swung from left to right. Malfoy turned her around, grabbed her hand, and twirled her once, twice, thrice. He then dipped her very low, and pulled her to him. His face inched closer and closer to hers, and she concentrated on his eyes; and then, she noticed that his gaze was drawn lower to her mouth…

"Ahem! AHEM!!!"

She blinked, remembered where they were, and jumped away from Malfoy as though he was death himself.

"Well," Professor Flitwick muttered, as the music died down. The obviously shocked professor was perspiring and shuffling his feet. "That was…um…"

Hermione swallowed, and the sound was amplified as no one inside the room was speaking… or _moving_… at all. The rest of their seventh year classmates were just gawking at them, their mouths opening wide and dripping with saliva. She dared to sneak a glance at Harry and Ron. Harry looked about ready to throw up, as he was very green on the face. Ron's, though, was very red.

"That was… an interesting demonstration," Professor Flitwick said, finally ending his hanging sentence. "Yes, yes, very… _interesting_."

"You mean we have to do that?" Pansy demanded in a very shrill voice.

"Oh, we should! We really, _really _should!" Blaise said in an equally shrill voice. 

Murmurs began to spread around the room, the first sign of life from the other students. Some agreed, some didn't, and some simply made noise. 

"No, of course not, absolutely _not_!" Professor Flitwick said in an attempt to calm everyone down. "Our graduation dance is relatively simpler than… _that_…"

Hermione felt as though she wanted to scream, throw up, and die, or possibly do all three at the same time. She spun her heels and left the Great Hall, pushing a number of students out of her way in the process. 

She stopped running as she reached the door of the Gryffindor room. Hermione placed a hand on the wall, panting, catching her breath. She heard footsteps behind her, and she turned, then wished she didn't.

Malfoy was there, and he was smiling deviously. "I told you, didn't I?" he said.

His words returned to her, and she blinked, not believing how gullible she was. He knew her weakness, and exploited it. Now, here she was, _humiliated_, just like he promised she would be. "Very devious and cunning of you," she spoke, not letting him know how much shaken up and frazzled she was because of the whole dancing event. "I have to hand it to you, Malfoy."

He bowed dramatically. "Coming from your mouth, I shall cherish these words forever."

Hermione held up a hand. "I wasn't finished yet," she said. "You humiliated me. I admit, you played me very well. However, don't expect this to be the end." 

"I _know_ it isn't," he said, cocking his head.

She arched her brow at him. "Good." 

Hermione was about to send him away when he spoke again. 

"You dance… very well, I must admit."

She looked at him, surprised once again at the compliment. Not finding any hint of sarcasm or malice on his face, she smirked. "Only when I have an equally good partner."

Malfoy's smile widened. "Should I be looking forward… or looking _out_… for your retribution?" 

Hermione grinned. "Bet your devious and cunning arse on it."

**Author's Notes: **I hope you liked this story… it's kinda weird, don't you think? The idea just struck me when I stared at a poster of Dirty Dancing 2. I'm still alive! Woohoo! The hell week is over, thank God ;) Anyways, yes, chapter 24 of Abyss is being conceptualized as we speak. So when is it going to be posted? The latest would be next Monday, but I'm hoping I'd be able to post it on Thursday or Friday. 


	2. Chapter Two

Divine Humiliation 

"What's wrong, Draco? You look—BLAISE!!! That's the second time, you stupid— this is my _Ralph_ _Lauren_ robe!"

"Did you see the way he looked at me?" Blaise said, ignoring the girl beside her who was wiping the spilled pumpkin juice off her robes. She focused her eyes at Draco, who was watching her face screw up into a wide, wide smile. "I'm telling you, Harry Potter is—"

"—not interested in you," Pansy said, savagely shoving the other girl away. "Besides, it's just his luck you got Flitwick to pair you up with him."

"Oh, you got that right," Blaise said, her eyes glinting like a leopard that had caught sight of her prey. She glanced at the Gryffindor table. "_His _luck." She smirked at the Slytherin beside her. "You're just angry because a _Weasley_ gets to grope you in public."

Pansy shuddered. "You could just imagine the _horror _of him touching my _Armani _robe, and muggle brand or not I love my robes," she said, rubbing her hands over her arms vigorously. "His large _poor_ ugly hands were moving down my back… I _swear_ that Weasel King was about to grab my—"

"At least he has the decency to _feel_ you," Blaise said, pouting. "What I'd give to have Harry touch my—"  
"Spoiled my appetite, you both," Draco said, pushing his plate away in disgust. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Can we talk about something less repulsive than Wonder Git and the Groping King?"

"Fine." Blaise smoothened the front of her robes. "Let's talk about _you_ and _Granger,_" she said blithely, grinning at him. "Tearing up the dance floor yesterday, what a wicked way to start off practice."

"Oh, that was just _so_ ridiculous to watch," Pansy said, scowling. "And I just felt Weasley crumpling his fists on my clothes—" 

He could feel a wide grin erupting on his face at the mere mention of his 'small' feat. "It _was_ entertaining," he said, ignoring Pansy. "The wickedest part of it was when she realized I was just playing her all along."

"You got her, all right," Millicent said over her own glass of pumpkin juice. "I admit, though, the 'ferret' comment was funny." She chuckled.

Draco glared at her. "You want your mouth stuck to Longbottom's all day and night?" he threatened.

She rolled her eyes. "You keep saying you'll perform that spell for me but you never do it."

"Eww, Millicent!" Pansy shrieked, dropping her spoon loudly on her plate. "Snogging a Longbottom! Now _I've_ lost my appetite!"

"Hey, Granger! Aren't you just the wild party girl—"

Draco's ears perked up at the catcalls and whistles that filled the Great Hall. He looked at the Gryffindor table to see his dancing partner sit between Potter and Weasley with the grace and refinement of a newly crowned queen. She even gave a little wave to her appreciative audience.

"Dance with me, would you? We'll burn a hole through the floor—"

"I'll request for Flitwick to change partners! I'm a better dancer than Malfoy, anyway—"  
"_Shut up_!" Weasel howled, his ridiculous face looking more ridiculous with that ridiculously angry expression on it. "Shut up, shut up, _shut up_!"

"Hermione, that dance you did with Malfoy was _hot,_" Weaslette said, pushing her ugly brother away and depositing herself firmly at Granger's left. Draco's interest heightened, and the sounds on his table faded as he concentrated on eavesdropping. "When he dipped you that second time, I thought he was going to snog you senseless—"

"Ginny, _please_," Weasel protested, dropping his spoon loudly on his plate. "You weren't even _there_ yesterday. How could you possibly know about that?"

Weaslette lifted her nose high in the air. "Lavender told me, as did Parvarti, Susan, and Hannah. Actually, that was the topic of yesterday's conversations at the girls' bathroom."

"_Conversations at the Girls' Bathroom,_" Potter repeated, smiling. "You make it sound like a formal meeting."  
"Oh, it is," Weaslette said flippantly. "Only the juiciest, most interesting and most _controversial_ issues are talked about, let me tell you. And what could be more juicy, interesting, _and_ controversial than the head students doing the dirty deed in front of everyone?"

"Harry got paired with Zabini!" Weasel interjected. "I think _that's_ more interesting than Malfoy and Hermione's—"

"Shut up _Ron_!" Potter said, eyeing the other boy with disgust. He actually hovered his fork over his own neck.

"Shut up _Ron_!" Weaslette echoed, rolling her eyes. "That's _nothing_ compared to Malfoy and Hermione's _dance of lurve_."   
_Dance of lurve? _Draco glanced at Granger, half-expecting her to be flushed and humiliated at the mention of the event. He was taken aback to see her smiling and nodding as though she thoroughly enjoyed talking about yesterday. 

"It was…controversial?" she asked, and then chuckled when the red-haired girl nodded with vigor.

"Yes, yes, _yes_," Weaslette said, edging closer to her. "Hermione, I'll just _die_ if I can't watch you and Malfoy 'get it on' today. Please, please, _please_ transfigure me to a seventh year student! I'll be your servant for life if you do!"

"I'm sorry, Gin," she replied, instantly looking apologetic. "I don't want to get into trouble, especially not this close to graduation. I feel sorry for you, though."

"Why?" Weaslette asked, rather suspiciously. 

At this point, Granger lifted her eyes off the younger Gryffindor and met Draco's stare head on. "Because something _interesting_ is going to happen later, I can guarantee that," she said, smiling widely. She lifted her goblet and took a long sip from it, never breaking eye contact with him as she did.

Draco blinked, caught off guard at her finding him staring at her. Was she aware of what he was doing all along? Not that it mattered too much, though. He wiped the surprised expression on his face with a smirk. Granger cocked her brow, and then focused on her meal. He did the same.

"Did you see the way _Harry Potter_ looked at me?" Blaise repeated, bouncing on her chair. The conversations at the Slytherin table surrounded Draco's senses again. "I'm telling you, he's in love--!" She waved her arms wildly and caused several glasses to topple on the table.

"Blaise, if you spill juice over my robes again I'll _Crucio_ you to oblivion!" Pansy threatened, standing up. "Do I have to tell you that this is my _Ralph_—"  
Her sentence was cut short when several hoots and screeches filled the air. Draco looked up to see owls, eagles, and all sorts of delivery birds filling the ceiling of the hall for a minute, before these birds separated and went to the different tables. He recognized Oswald, his own owl, as it swooped towards him carrying a small parcel on its beak. It dropped the letter on his lap and flew away.

The envelope was yellow with black ribbons all over it. There was a neatly scrawled _Draco CUTIE o Malfoy _on the outside, and the childishness of it made him scowl. Before anyone else could see the envelope, he tore the side, grabbed the letter, and shoved the torn paper inside his pocket. 

He unfolded the meticulously folded paper, and scowled even more at the content. 

Jumping Jackstones you're reading my letter! It's, like, my dream to have you read my note because, well… you're so cute and adorable if you weren't such a horrible, egoistic and annoying git! Oh, but I hope I will be seeing more of you soon… wait, actually, I WOULD be seeing more of you soon, like, before lunch today! Snogs and Hugs! * Garnet Hughes (can't wait to see what color you have on!) "What's that?" Pansy asked, moving to get the note from him. "Nothing," he said, tearing the note into shards and shoving them inside his pocket as well. "Just some stupid Hufflepuff expecting me to meet with her. Idiot girl." Another lovesick note to add to his growing collection, he thought grimly. As if he didn't have enough to burn already! 

The sound of fork banging against glass caught his attention. He looked at the professors' table to see McGonagall standing up. 

"Attention, attention everyone!" she said. When all students had quieted down, she adjusted her eyeglasses and spoke. "We have decided to split the seventh year students into two groups for the dance practice every morning, after Professor Flitwick reported a rather… _interesting_… occurrence yesterday." McGonagall seemed to search the students for the two people responsible for that interesting occurrence. She nodded once – at Granger, Draco assumed, and then at him. "Now, the first group will still be supervised by Professor Flitwick, while the second group will be moved under Professor Trelawney's care." She picked up a scroll on the table and opened it. "The following students are asked to report to the Charms classroom immediately: Potter, Zabini, Weasley, Parkinson, Bulstrode, Longbottom, Bones, Finnegan, Patil, Thomas, Patil, Nott, Abbott, Crabbe, Grecian, Goyle, Brown, Augusts, and finally, Malfoy, Granger. Those of you not mentioned will automatically be going to the Divinations classroom where Professor Trelawney is waiting." McGonagall lowered the scroll. "The rest of the students will be going back to their common rooms right away." 

"_Trelawney_ teaching dance steps?" Pansy muttered, sneering. "I thought Flitwick was odd enough—"

"At least, _we_ didn't get into _her_ group, and we didn't get separated from our partners," Blaise said, standing up. "Well, better freshen up before I see my husband-to-be. Ta!" And she ran out of the Great Hall.  
Pansy eyed the other girl's retreat in disgust. "Damn that girl, at least she has something to look forward to, whereas I… Ugh, I'm going to be groped _again_!" she said, shaking her head. She threw her napkin at the table. "My mother would just go over the top when she learns I'm paired with a Weasley—but I guess, that won't be too much a problem, since _you're_ partnered with a Muggleborn. Imagine how _your_ parents will react!" 

"Thank you for pointing that out, love," Draco said, his voice dry as dust. "As unfortunate as the circumstances are, I might as well make the sight fascinating to watch." He glanced at the Gryffindor table, and found Granger rising from her seat. She dusted herself, moving her hands slowly from the top of her stomach to the area just above her hip. She looked up, and, again, met his eyes. Granger smirked, and then strode out of the Great Hall with a bounce in her every step.

Draco rose from his seat as well. This dance practice would definitely be more than just _interesting_, if he could have his hand in it. A flash of the routine they did returned to him, and he smiled – he must admit, he actually enjoyed dancing with Granger!

"Let's go," he said, moving towards the door. He didn't bother to wait for Pansy, though; he just allowed her to catch up with his steps. They made their way to the Charms classroom and found the door to be wide open. When they stepped in, the door immediately drifted shut. Draco looked at the front of the classroom to find Flitwick standing beside a high chair and a gigantic mirror.

"Ah, all of you are finally in, I see," Flitwick said, levitating himself so that he could stand on the stool. "Find your partners, everyone, and your positions from yesterday – though I will request Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger to stand on the middle, please. I wouldn't want both of you losing your heads again."  

Draco walked towards the center, and saw that Granger was already there. "Waiting for me?" he asked, sneering. 

"Yes," she answered, smiling. "After all, this wouldn't be as humiliating if _you_ weren't here." 

"Very good!" Flitwick said, clapping. "But some minor adjustments… Mr. Potter, you and Ms. Zabini please take a step closer to Miss Grecian and Mr. Goyle. That's it. Mr. Longbottom and Miss Bulstrode… a little to the left please. Yes, yes, very good. Mr. Weasley, Miss Parkinson, please exchange places with Mr. Finnegan and Miss Bones – no offense, Mr. Finnegan, but you're a _horrible _dancer." The professor surveyed everything from his stool, and when satisfied he clapped his hand and a song began. "Take your partner's hand!"

Draco took Granger's hand and held it firmly inside his. "Thought of a fitting retribution yet?" he drawled. 

"Why? Feeling a bit twitchy?" she retorted. 

"No," he answered, looking directly at her. "And I don't see the reason why I should be, because as far as I know, nothing humiliating happened to me after the dance practice yesterday, or earlier this morning…"

Granger clucked her tongue. "Patience, dear Malfoy," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. Automatically, he lifted his free hand and brought it to her waist. "You'll get your _reward_ sooner or later."

"Now step to the right, one, two, three, and to the left, one, two three. Then cross your feet, over and under, and cross again, over and under, step, step, that's it, Mr. Goyle! Good heavens you're a wonderful dancer!"

Draco and Granger looked at each other. "Goyle?" they both mouthed, hers in amusement, his in disgust.   

"All right, now girls, move to your partner's left, like so… don't break hand contact, Mr. Potter! There. Thank you. Now step to the left, cross, step, cross, step, and to the right, step, cross, step, cross, step—"   

"This dance is boring, don't you think?" Draco asked her. "Nothing compared to our… what's that? Oh, yes. _Dance of lurve._"

She glared at him. "No," she said. "It's not boring. Personally I prefer this dance over yesterday's because I think it's rather… _safe_."

He grinned. "Safe," he repeated. 

"Yes," she said, gritting her teeth. Granger looked away.

"—Miss Abbott, I said to the right! And Miss Patil, you were supposed to step your left foot over your right foot, not the other way around. I think I may have to call on Mr. Goyle and Miss Grecian to demonstrate to you—"

"Professor Flitwick?"

The tiny professor looked at the door to see it open and McGonagall standing at the doorway. "Yes, Minerva?" 

"The Headmaster wishes to see you in his office," she said curtly. The professor looked around the classroom, and as her eyes rested on Draco and Granger she actually _smiled_. But that smile was very fleeting, though, as a stern expression wiped it away immediately. "Right now, if you please."

"Oh, all right." Flitwick levitated himself off the chair. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't stray from your positions, and don't leave the room!" he said to the students before he left.

"Get your filthy hands off my robe!" Pansy shrieked, pushing Weasley away. "If you must know, this is _Ralph_—"

"Oh shut it!" Groping King retaliated, looking about ready to lunge at her.   

Draco chuckled, thinking how absolutely amusing it would have been if Weasel actually hit Pansy. It'd surely shut her up, and send him to trouble… and those were the fun parts! But of course, Granger and the Wonder Git would come to pathetic Weasel's aid, spoiling everything from there… speaking of which…

His brows furrowed. He stole a glance at Granger's hand on his shoulder, wondering why on bloody earth was it so warm, and how was it that he could feel it through his clothes. The fabric of his robes was very thick to not let any kind of temperature permeate it too easily, so how come…? 

Granger chuckled a bit, and shook her head. 

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Nothing," she was quick to say. Granger cleared her throat and looked him in the eye. He noted the very firm blush that resided on both her cheeks.

"What is it?" he demanded, though his tone didn't come out as severe as he wanted it to be. Draco was easily distracted by the vivid pink hue that enlivened her face. What could've brought those up?

She blinked. "Can't you feel it?" Granger asked, looking as though she was biting the insides of her cheeks to keep herself from smiling. 

"I've no idea what you're talking about. Enlighten me."

With a sensuously slow pace she moved her hand from his shoulder down to his arm, and he paused – not at the act itself, but at the _feeling_ of it. It felt like she moved her palm against his skin. His _bare _skin. Granger moved closer to him, until her breath tickled his ear as she spoke. "That's a very lovely color of red you have on."

Draco pulled away and dropped all forms of contact between them. He was about to ask her what she meant, when—

"_Oy_!" Weasel squealed in absolute delight. "Malfoy's robes are gone!"

The words hit Draco like rocks. He whirled around to face the idiot, who was red on the face from laughing. "What in bloody hell are you on, Weasel? Can't you see my robes are—"

"—not there!" Potter said, pointing at him. The scarred git was also laughing like there was no tomorrow. "Look, everyone – _Malfoy's got clowns on his underwear_!"

Most of the students howled in laughter. Thomas looked like he was choking while Finnegan actually pounded his fists on his chest to start breathing again.

Draco stood very still; beginning to realize finally what the hell was going on. He could feel his ears burn and his skin fume at the embarrassment that flooded him. He knew he _was_ wearing those red boxer shorts with clowns on it. And the only way for the others to know that was through—

The mirror in front of the classroom caught his attention, but more importantly, the reflection in the mirror shed light on his predicament. He saw himself wearing nothing, _absolutely_ nothing, but his shorts. His robes, thick fabric and all, were gone. _An illusion spell, _he thought in spite, not making any effort to hide his bare chest. _And an advanced one at that!_

"Oh my God, Crabbe is having a seizure!" Abbott cried in horror. But no one really paid attention to her, or to the salivating Slytherin for that matter. 

"Draco!" Pansy screeched, fighting the crowd that enveloped him. When she reached him, he could see that she was very red on the face; almost as red as the Weasel's hair. "Draco! I demand that you cover my _honeymoon present_ right this very instant!"    

That sent the others laughing again, but this time Draco paid them no mind. He was busy staring at Hermione Granger, who wasn't laughing like the others were. Actually, she was covering her very flushed face with her very pale hands; standing stock still while the others were rocking with laughter. 

And then he knew _exactly_ who was responsible for this humiliation. _Draco Malfoy, you blundering idiot._   

The pieces fell into place. There was no '_Garnet Hughes'_, but the initials were indeed real. And the intention behind the letter… the phrase '_I would be seeing more of you soon_' stood starkly from the others, and how could he forget '_can't wait to see what color you have on!_'?   

Without a word Draco withdrew his wand. The laughter died down instantly, and the mood changed dramatically. However, he wasn't going to hex anyone. Draco muttered a simple _"Finite Incantatem," _and it was over. 

Or was it?

At that exact moment, Flitwick came bustling in. "Oh, yes, where were we? Oh, right – why aren't you in your places, everyone? Places! Places!"

While the others scrambled to return to their positions, Draco fixed his eyes on the girl who had now removed her face from the confines of her palms. She was still flushed; her cheeks still wore that lovely shade of red that complemented his boxer shorts nicely. Wearing his most neutral expression he said, "Why if it isn't Garnet Hughes." He smirked. "Seen enough of me, I trust."

A smile slowly emerged from her lips. Granger looked him up and down, raking her eyes over his body. "More than I wanted to, unfortunately." She clucked her tongue again. "I'm disappointed in you, Malfoy. Getting a bit slow, I see. Took you quite some time to finally figure things out."

"What? The letter, or the spell in the letter?" he asked. "Crafty, Granger. Very crafty." He stood in front of her, and under Flitwick's orders took her hand. 

"Thank you."

"You do understand that this puts me in a perplexing situation," he said, moving his hand over her waist again. "I seem to remember that yesterday, I was partly involved in the humiliation. Today, though… the embarrassment was all mine. And all because of your desire to see me naked—"

"Oh--!"

"Let me finish." Draco smiled at her. "I am torn. A part of me wants to call it even. A larger part of me wants revenge."

"You seem to have completely forgotten the steps, everyone! Miss Parkinson, you are all over the place, as are you Mr. Crabbe – what could have possibly happened in the five minutes I was gone?" Flitwick said in desperation. 

Granger smiled beatifically at him. "I say go with revenge, though really, I doubt that you could concoct a more potent retribution than I just did."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Is that a challenge I hear from you, Gryffindor?"

"Indeed it is, Slytherin. And I know you're going to lose… more than your clothes this time."

He ignored Flitwick as he spun her three times and pulled her closer to him, close enough to see how her cheeks flushed deeper at their sudden proximity. "I'm going to have fun with you, Hermione," he breathed. "Let the games begin."  

**Author's Notes: **There! I've created chapter two of DH. This is dedicated to all those who requested for more. I hope you enjoyed that as well! I got carried away, I know. And some clarifications… some of you wanted to know what dance Draco and Hermione pulled off in the last chapter… well, I've made that up. I've combined the steps I've performed in several parties plus those I've watched as well, so if you don't recognize the routine, don't worry. ;) Okay, time to stop ranting. Thank you for reading, and see you next chapter!


	3. Chapter Three

Divine Humiliation 

"You did WHAT!" Ginny exclaimed, her face turning redder than her hair, which was absolutely astonishing to see. 

Hermione blinked, all innocence and guileless. "I said I gave Malfoy a spell that would allow anyone to see through his robes." She turned her eyes over at Lavender and Parvarti. "You were there, weren't you?"

"Yessss," hissed Lavender, her eyes suspiciously bright. "We saw it."

"Well, we didn't see _it_, if you know what I'm saying," Parvarti said with a large smile and a wink at Ginny. "But we almost did."

Hermione made a face. "That's disgusting, Parvarti!"

"Oh come on, like you're not thinking of… Malfoy's _it_."

"Or Malfoy in his boxer shorts. Now _there's_ a sight for sore eyes." Lavender sighed, and fanned herself with her fingers. "Sinfully delicious. I could just lick—"

"For Merlin's sake, we have a minor!" Hermione pointed at Ginny, who was muttering incoherencies beneath her breath. "And no, for your information, I'm _not_ thinking of anything related to Malfoy. I have my dignity, you know." 

"He's worth _my_ dignity anytime," Lavender snickered. 

"I need to… to sit down… sit… chair…" Ginny laid her hands behind her, and once she felt a chair slid on it. She turned her red face to Hermione and took deep, calming breaths. "I will never forgive you," she started, her eyes ablaze. "You… you cheater! You… you—"

"Calm down, would you?" Hermione said. The look on her friend's face worried her: it was a look of pure loathing, the look she only saw on Malfoy's. "It wasn't like I wanted to _see_— well, I just wanted revenge, that's all!"  

"I hate you!" Ginny cried, standing up and pointing at her. "You deprived me of an absolutely divine scene! You deprived me of a topic I could relay to my children's children! I mean… Malfoy in… in… you just wanted to keep him for yourself, didn't you? Selfish!" 

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, that's why I let twenty other people see him in his naked glory." 

Ginny gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. 

"It wasn't like he looked good or something! Honestly, you didn't miss anything!" she appeased.

Lavender and Parvarti shot her dirty looks, acting like they were personally offended by what she said. "Liar," seethed Parvarti. 

"Don't believe her, Ginny – you missed a _lot,_" Lavender said. 

"Thank you very much for the support," snapped Hermione. 

"I will never forgive you, Hermione Granger," Ginny huffed, sitting again. "EVER!"

"Don't you think you're overreacting, Virginia Weasley?" Hermione asked dryly, rubbing her temples in irritation. Great. Now she was developing a migraine because of Malfoy. Of all the mundane things to fight about, _he_ must be the worst of them all!

The two engaged in a staring contest that Ginny later ended with an abrupt, "Fine!" She sniffed. "At least have the decency to tell me what he looked like."

Lavender grinned wickedly. "Why don't I just _show_ you?"

Hermione's jaw dropped as Lavender pulled out a small frame from her bag. She took a brief glance at it, and then stepped away, repulsed. "Oh for the love of sanity, LAVENDER!"

"You took a picture?" Ginny whispered, all starry eyed as she scrambled to where the other two girls were. 

Lavender looked at Parvarti and grinned. "Yup."

"It pays well to always bring along a camera," Parvarti added. "That Creevey creep taught me that."

Ginny's eyes filled with tears. "I love you guys! Group hug!"

And the three squealed, huddled, and hugged each other.

"Honestly!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "I have better things to do than ogle an ogre!" She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the girls' bathroom just as Ginny let out a bloodcurdling shriek.  

_This is so stupid_, she thought, storming over to the Great Hall. So she allowed some seventh year students see Malfoy in his underwear. Big deal! What's so wonderful about that? She threw a furious look at some third year Hufflepuffs giggling and saying the name 'Malfoy' over and over again. Another group of fifth year Ravenclaws got the same reaction from her when she heard the words 'hot' and 'clowns' from them. She wondered how on earth the news got to them in the first place. 

This was not what she intended to happen, damn it! She wanted to _humiliate_ Malfoy, not turn him into a bloody sex object!

She dumped her bag on the Gryffindor table, and sat herself. The Great Hall was almost deserted, with only a few groups of people from the different houses here and there. Hermione looked around her, and saw that there was no one she knew quite well. Pursing her lips she grabbed her Potions book and opened it on Chapter Fourteen: Feet of Ferrets and Hand of Glory.__

Great. Even the freakin' chapter was about Malfoy.

"Waryurdingmiyoni?"  

She looked up, and screamed when saw a gigantic _talking_ bouquet of flowers appear right next to her out of nowhere. 

"Relax, Hermione, it's just me!" Harry emerged from behind the bouquet and grinned. "Gave you quite a scare, huh?"

She could only nod.

He dropped the flowers on the floor and sat right next to her. "You're reading _Potions_?" he said. "Aren't we done with that disgusting subject?"

Hermione closed her book with a resigned sigh. "I had to do something to keep me from flinging myself off of Astronomy Tower," she answered. She looked around her and whispered conspiratorially, "These people are insane, Harry. _Insane_." 

"Tell me about it," Harry said, rolling his eyes. He pointed at the bouquet. "Look what Zabini gave me."

"Blaise gave it to you?" Hermione asked, stifling her laughter as she glanced at the ridiculous object in question. 

Harry looked annoyed at her reaction. "I just said it, didn't I?"

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said, placing a hand over his shoulder. She glanced at the bouquet of red, orange, and yellow roses again. "But… um, _beautiful_ as the flowers are, I wonder why you have to bring it with you. I mean, couldn't you just leave it in the common room?"

Harry looked absolutely crestfallen. "Watch." He stood up, and just as he was about three meters away from the bouquet the flowers screamed:

--Oh Harry (Harry)

_I am but a fool_

_Darling I love you_

_Though you treat me cruel_

_You hurt me_

_And you make me cry_

_But if you leave me_

_I will surely die--_

Hermione had to cover her ears to protect her eardrums from the belching flowers. "What the hell, Harry!" she demanded.

The song stopped as soon as she felt Harry sit beside her again. "It's horrible," Harry told her, cradling his head on his hands. "I have to bring it with me everywhere I go, or it'll sing like that… it's not even light! It weighs a ton, the blasted thing!"  

She patted his hand. "I'm sorry," she sympathized again. 

Then Harry straightened up. "I know!" he said. He turned bright eyes at her. "Maybe that thing's charmed. If it is, you can remove the spell, can you? For the sake of my sanity?"

Hermione scrutinized the flowers. "Oh Harry, these flowers are not charmed at all! These are _Rousing Roses_."

Harry regarded her with a blank look.

"Don't you remember? Rousing Roses are seasonal flowers that would really give loud wails when their receiver leaves them alone. We discussed these last year!"

Still with the blank look. 

Hermione sighed, defeated.

"Can I burn the damned thing?" Harry asked eagerly. 

She resisted the urge to smack him at the back of his head. "Burning them will cause them to multiply. But don't worry. They die really quickly, and they'll probably be dead by this afternoon."

"This afternoon? Bloody Hell! I have dance practice this morning!" 

"I'm afraid you'll have to bring it with you." 

Harry's eyes blazed. "I'm going to kill Blaise," he said, frothing in the mouth. "Right after I stuff this bouquet inside every hole I could find on her."

"Don't be so rash. You've got to admit, the girl's got good intentions," she said. "Can't say the same about her taste, though."

"Good intentions or not, she's_ dead_. Oh, don't worry, Hermione," he said to her horrified expression. "You won't be there to see it, anyway."

She frowned. "Why not? I have dance practice too, remember?"

"Not today you don't," Harry said, standing up. "Snape dropped by and asked you and Ron to go to the Potions classroom immediately."

"When?"

Harry consulted his watch, and then blanched. "Um… let's just say you should've been there about twenty minutes ago."

Hermione stood abruptly and shoved her book inside her bag. "Why didn't you say so?" she demanded angrily, and rushed out of the Great Hall. 

By the time she got to the Potions classroom, Hermione had all but hexed every single student having ridiculous conversations about 'hot', 'Malfoy' and 'clowns.' Actually, Harry's news relieved her a bit, because she really didn't want to see the blonde idiot. Her dreams of a Malfoy-free morning were shattered, though, when the idiot himself caught her attention as she entered the room. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

The blonde git just shrugged. 

"Finally," Parkinson said, looking bored out of her non-existent wits. "Her highness has arrived."

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, looking relieved to see her. Indeed, he voiced that aloud. "Am I relieved to see you!"

"What are _they_ doing in here?" she asked, jabbing her finger in the direction of the Slytherins. She deposited her things on the chair behind Parkinson's and in front of Ron's. She would've scooted away from the girl but that chair was the last available left. The chair suited her fine, just as long as it was two chairs away from Malfoy (who was seated at the very front). 

Ron shrugged. "It was really weird, Snape just dropped by—"

"—that's _Professor_ Snape to you, Weasel—"

"—AND told me he wanted to see us this morning. He said he's even excused us from dance rehearsals." 

Hermione sat on her chair, and frowned. "What could Snape possibly want with us?" She couldn't help but be nervous at the possibilities.

"I don't know, but I reckon it's something bad. He was smiling too much when he talked to me." Ron shivered. "There's a sight I _never_ want to see ever again."

"Well," she retorted, straightening herself. "It can't be that bad if _they're_ here. Where is Snape, anyway?" She looked around.

"He stepped outside," Ron answered. 

"Got tired of waiting for her royal Mudblood-ness," Parkinson chimed in, while studying her nails. 

"Shut up!" Ron told her, his face reddening. 

"Did _you_ just tell me to shut up?" she asked shrilly. 

While the two were busy bickering and shouting over their heads, Hermione noticed that Malfoy was busy folding a piece of paper. He gave it a few twists and tugs – a fold here, a slip there – and the flat sheet turned into a crane. A paper crane! She watched as he placed it on his palms and blew it away… towards Parkinson, she noted with a frown. The girl turned just in time to accept the paper crane with no small amount of glee. Hermione turned her attention elsewhere so that no one would say that she was too… attentive of things that didn't concern her, but she couldn't help but notice that Parkinson savagely crumpled the paper crane and then handed it to her. "It's for you," she said, tossing her hair and Hermione a glare.

"Huh?" _Smart, Hermione. Very, very smart._

The Slytherin girl threw the paper at her with ferocious force, and Hermione lifted her hands just in time to prevent it from hitting her face. 

She scrutinized the note in her palm, and glanced at Malfoy – only to find him looking at her with his chin resting on his fist. He mimicked the action of writing on air, and then pointed at the letter. She got the message. She read the note:

- I feel it as an obligation to report to you the progress of my scheme. Hermione, dear sweet Hermione… the fun is just beginning. - 

She looked at him, and pursed her lips, resisting the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him. She grabbed her quill and wrote down:

- I'm not intimidated, you little geezer. Shove this up your arse and put my words in your swelling head: Bring. It. On. - 

Hermione crumpled the note and tossed it to him. She got pure, unadulterated pleasure when it smacked him right at the forehead. 

He opened the note, raised his eyebrows, and actually laughed. Malfoy wrote down something, then folded the paper into two, then four, and threw it at her. When she read the note:

_- A little more careful with your metaphors and your language, Hermione. I am wounded by them. - _

_- Does little Drakie want a cutie little clown to come kiss his little wound? - _

_- Does little Her-ma-yo-ney want to see where my little wound is so she could make it all better? - _

_- You disgust me, Malfoy. Anyway, you didn't really report your progress to me. Ha, ha, idiot. - _

_-  Oh, it's on the way, literally and figuratively. You wouldn't even know what hit you. - _

Hermione tossed her reply one last time, and then gave a horrified gasp – she just saw Snape slink behind Malfoy, and _he _was the one who caught her note. 

Malfoy looked highly amused.

_Slimy bastard! _she thought, though she couldn't decide yet which Slytherin deserved it. 

"What's this?" Snape asked, waving the paper around. He straightened the note and read aloud: "'you are, quite simply, the most egoistic, immature, and pathetic wizard to ever set foot on this school.' My, my, Miss Granger… I applaud your choice of endearment to Mr. Malfoy."   

Parkinson looked at her with the sourest expression her face could muster. Hermione cradled her head in her hands, feeling the temperature of her skin rise above its boiling point. She felt a hand over her shoulder and gave Ron a small smile, grateful that he was there. 

"Very well," Snape began, sitting on his desk. "The reason I called the four of you is because I felt the need to relay to you the results of the last Potions exam. This exam, I believe, determined who our Valedictorian is, and just who is our second best."

At this, Hermione straightened on her seat, and shot the back of Malfoy's head with a haughty look. _Ooh, second best. Malfoy, Snape's talking about you, _she thought. Then, the most incredible thing happened: he actually turned and _winked_ at her!

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, turning his attention to the blonde geezer, "please accept my sincerest congratulations. You got an excellent mark of 98.5 %."  

Malfoy shrugged, as if it didn't surprise him at all that he got such a high grade. _Or _low_ grade_, she mused, smiling. _This means I got a higher grade than—_

"Miss Granger," Snape said, his expression becoming blander. "98.5%."

Hermione blinked. She got the same grade the Malfoy did? _Bloody hell, that_ never _happened before!_

At least the blonde snot looked as surprised as she was. 

"Bloody brilliant, Hermione!" Ron said, clapping her at the back hard enough to make her cough out her lungs. "Err- sorry."

Parkinson raised her hand. "Sir, why am I here?"

The absurdity of the question sent Ron guffawing loudly. 

Snape regarded him with a foul look. "The same reason Mr. Weasley is."

That sure did shut Ron up. 

"Miss Parkinson, Mr. Weasley, in all my years of teaching this subject I've never, fortunately, met more idiotic students such as yourselves." Snape paused. "Except for Mr. Longbottom, that is."

Parkinson gave a dignified shriek. Ron murmured obscenities beneath his breath. Malfoy looked like a blonde buffoon and Hermione felt sympathy for her friend (though she couldn't help but agree with Snape).

"However," he continued, standing up. "The results of the last exam proved me wrong. You two _perfected_ the exam, and I couldn't be more… shall we say, perplexed."

Hermione's brain ceased functioning. 

"Perfected!" shouted the blonde prick.

"Perfected?" quivered Pansy-the-cow.

"Perfected?" whispered her-ex-friend-aka-one-of-the-two-who-outsmarted-her.

"Perfected," confirmed Snape. He shook his head. "Truly perplexing."

A few moments passed with the classroom engulfed in otherworldly silence. Then, the shouts of a dying cow and a triumphant king permeated the stillness and broke the peace that reigned supreme only moments ago. 

Pansy stood shouting at the top of her lungs. Ron stood shouting at the top of his lungs. The two started jumping up and down, and even embraced each other in glee, then separated before jumping up and down again.

Hermione's mind was still gloriously blank. 

"Wait 'til Harry hears this!" Ron said, and then ran outside.

"Wait 'til Blaise hears this!" Pansy said, and then ran outside. 

"Perfected?" repeated the blonde pig. "Sir, there must be some mistake—"

Snape sent him a withering glare. "There isn't. The papers and quills were, as always, guarded against cheating of all known kinds. Absurd as the idea is, they actually perfected the exam." He waved his hand, as if dismissing the notion. "But enough of the oddities of this day. Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, another reason why you are called to my presence is because, as I told you before, we now have the knowledge of who our valedictorian is… or should I say, who our valedictorian_s_ _are_." 

"WHAT!" shouted Hermione and the blonde ass. 

Snape smiled. A terrifying sight to behold, but she endured it like any martyr would. "For the first time in the history of Hogwarts, two students garnered the same general weighted average, and—"

"How could that _be_?" Hermione said, rising to her feet. "He's been second to _me _in all our years in Hogwarts—"

"You're forgetting sixth year, Her-ma-yo-ney," said the blonde idiot with a perfectly annoying and perfectly revolting and perfectly _annoying_ smile. 

"Actually," Snape said in a tolerating tone, "the computation was only dependent on seventh year grades, and from all of the subjects you two were evenly scored."

"IMPOSSIBLE!" she cried, pounding her fist on her desk. At this point, there was only one word in her vocabulary and that was: "Impossible!" 

The blonde wanker stood and walked languidly towards her. "Do forgive her temper, professor," he drawled. "Miss Granger's rather… jumpy lately." He poked her on the shoulder and she jumped. "See?"

"I do," Snape answered silkily. "Well, there's nothing more I could tell you except how proud Professor McGonagall and I are of both of you, and that you better prepare your valedictory addresses. You'll be delivering them at the same time."

"Impossible!" said Hermione, turning to the blonde twat. "You egoistical smarmy pathetic annoying infuriating sneering maddening atrocious terrible despicable _blonde_ prick of a man!" She took a deep breath, marveling at how her vocabulary list quickly swelled with adjectives she could use on him. 

"Such beautiful poetry," sniggered the bastard, pretending to wipe away tears from his eyes. "I am touched."

"Yes. Lovely," Snape drawled. "If I may leave you two lovebirds alone…" He slinked out of the room. 

"You DID something!" she accused, jabbing Malfoy with her finger. "You arrogant, horrible little twit! Everybody knows _I'm_ the most intelligent – therefore, deserving – of that title! Oh, I'm going to murder you—"

"Look, ghastly girl," he retorted. "I didn't do anything, and contrary to your stuck-up belief you're _not_ the most intelligent student in Hogwarts." He smiled, which further incensed her. "_We _are."

Hermione stared at him, feeling her skin grow hotter with every second that passed. "You're dead, Malfoy," she seethed, clenching her fists at her sides. "No more stupid games."

He actually had the grace to look devastated! "Aww, Granger! I haven't even paid you back—"

She turned her head away, grabbed her bag, and marched out of the classroom. Hermione felt angry, cheated, and most of all, ready to kill – the blonde son of a b*tch just managed to steal away her glory! Her honor! Her hard-earned treasure! The product of her sweat, blood and tears! The answer to her—

"It's her," one gasped, as she passed by. 

"It is! It is!" the other answered. "Shameless!"

"To think she's the Head Girl!" their friend muttered. "I would never be so bold as to do what she just did!" 

Hermione frowned, but other than that paid them no more attention. She had bigger ferrets to skin. 

Just as she was to ignore and pass a large crowd gathered in front of the Great Hall, a hand snatched her arm. "Hey!" Hermione started, instinctively pulling away. She stopped when she recognized who grabbed her. "Ginny? Ginny, what's wrong?"

The younger Gryffindor looked absolutely pallid. She dragged Hermione towards the center of the large crowd. 

"Ginny? I don't— what— oww, that's my foot you stupid—"

"I thought you had your dignity, Hermione?" Parvarti asked her, her brows cocked up. 

Hermione shot her an exasperated look and pulled her arm back. "What are you talking about? Of _course_ I have my—"

Lavender pointed at something below her feet. "Then what's _that_?" 

Hermione followed the finger, and gasped: there, written on the floor in mixed yellow, red, and orange loose rose petals, was a note that read:

_- D.M,_

_         Would you be my date for the Graduation Ball? Please say yes. _

_                                                                                                        H.G. - _

For the third time that day, her mind went kaput.

She registered a heavy weight around her shoulders and looked to see Malfoy staring at her with an expression akin to pity and compassion. "Sorry, Granger. Not that I'm not flattered, but I _am_ going with Pansy…" He smiled. "I hope you understand."

She couldn't say a word.

He tilted her head and kissed her swiftly on the lips. "I appreciate the offer, though. I'll think about it, if that would console you." And he was gone.

Hermione was left shaking with humiliation, fury, and contempt. She didn't pay attention to the stares she was receiving – in her mind was one thing, one purpose, one word:

REVENGE.  

**Author's Notes: **Thank you, thank you, T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U for the wonderful reviews this story has been receiving from you, guys! It makes writing them much more fun (and quicker!) ;) If you've missed the dancing… there would be some next chapter, I promise.  

And some clarifications… there's a reason why Pansy likes Muggle brands in this story ;) Pansy and Draco may seem like a couple, but they're not. Pretenses, I dare say. The letter from 'Garnet Hughes' actually activated the advanced illusion spell. And… yes, there's more where this came from (I swear, my brain is just a dark, eerie, spooky place. You won't want to know what I'm thinking!)

I hope you liked the third installment of this story. Thank you for reading and see you next chapter!      ****


	4. Chapter Four

Divine Humiliation 

Walking all the way to Charms classroom was like a stroll on the clouds up in heaven where the angels sang a chorus of melodies and the cherubs played their harps without a care about the sins of the world.

Or, as Draco would have simply put it, walking all the way to Charms classroom was pure F-U-N indeed.

He passed by the Great Hall… well, _passed by_ was a kind way to describe it. He actually rounded up all the possible routes that he could in order to see again and again the spectacle he had made the day before, and by God… he was proud of himself. So proud, in fact, that this display of Granger's public assertion of interest in him would go down in history as the most ingenious, well crafted, and well carried out scheme he'd ever had. And considering the pranks he pulled off on Longbottom, Potter, Weasley, and all the other poor unsuspecting souls in Hogwarts… that was saying a lot.   

Draco had a very difficult time keeping a smirk off his face but he did all he could to restrain it. Instead, he pasted a compassionate look that the others would interpret as the expression on the face of a person that had to turn down a love confession made to him. Oh, what he would give to have Granger's look of horror emblazoned in his memory for the rest of his life… that would _surely_ lift his spirits whenever he needed a little pick-me-up every now and then!

Heaving a sigh of disappointment as he left the Great Hall for the thirtieth time that morning, Draco finally headed towards the dance practice. The disappointment, however, turned to delight as he realized that this was the morning he'd be seeing the downfall of Hermione Granger, since practically the entire student body was buzzing about her outrageousness and he knew for sure that the seventh year students would _never _let her forget it. And with him being there, holding her tantalizingly close and pretending to be the wizard-in-damned-expensive-robes who would save her dignity while humiliating her to the point of her death at the same time was just too delicious a chance to miss. 

"Mr. Malfoy," Flitwick's squeaky voice, as well as a number of murmurs from his classmates, greeted him as he walked in. "We're so _glad_ you finally came to join us. In the center please… Miss Granger, take your position with Mr. Malfoy, that's it…"

Draco saw her rise from her seat and walk towards him, her expression far from being _glad_. He glanced around and saw that most of his housemates and their partners were on their feet and practicing, and it hit him that she'd been sent to the corner, _alone_, to wait for him to show up. _Icing on the cake, _he thought, smiling at her and coaxing a pretty scowl in return. 

When she finally got to his side a series of sounds like *cough*dumped!*cough*, *cough*turneddown!*cough*, and *cough*shameonyou!*cough* met their ears, though he knew the words were not directed at _him_. Granger stubbornly lifted her chin and arrogantly met his gaze, and he couldn't help but notice the lovely shade of red her cheeks were wearing. She was probably scrapping the last remnants of dignity from her well of pride as she stood by him. "How are you this morning?" he asked nicely, taking a hand that was surprisingly cold. "I trust that you slept well?"

She bit her lip, and then glanced at Flitwick before coming back with, "Like a baby." 

The dark circles under her eyes proved her statement wrong, but he didn't pursue that. Draco let out a slow grin. "Mind your manners, Granger. Aren't you going to ask me how _my_ night was?"

"Like I give a shi—"

"—it was fantastic," he continued, turning her around against him and resting his palms over her waist like what Flitwick instructed. _Ah. The fun part had begun._ "My dreams were filled with little hearts and rose petals that reminded me of your… shall we say, 'Proclamation of Lurve' for me, and—"

"You know very well I didn't do it," she whispered, her hips moving left and right. "You're totally demented to think that _I_—"

"Well it doesn't really matter what _you_ think, does it?" he retorted, twirling her twice. "It's all about what the _others_ think of you… and frankly, after the display yesterday I would love to know what these thoughts are."

"You sneaky little piece of crap!" she breathed, capping her statement with a brutal squeezing of his hand. Granger shot another look at Flitwick and then performed the cross-step-cross movements they'd been doing since forever. "Even if you're the last wizard in this world and I have a killing curse aimed at my throat, I would _never_ ask you to be my date for the Graduation Ball. _Everybody_ knows that."

Well _that _stung. Hermione Granger truly had an artistic flare with words. His expression hardened at her heartfelt expression of distaste. "You're wrong," he told her simply, pushing her away with a little too much force than what was required. "What everybody knows is that you _did _ask me to be your date and I _turned you down._"

She nearly stumbled but quickly regained her balance. Her face contorted into pure rage and he thought she was ready to claw his eyes out, but fortunately Flitwick's clapping brought her to her senses. 

"Excellent. Just excellent." The clapping resounded again. "I'm fully satisfied… a few more sessions and you'll all be ready to perform! Marvelous!"

Some of the other students clapped as well. Draco glanced at Granger and found her taking deep breaths, obviously trying to calm herself down. 

"Tomorrow I will be giving you the entire morning off for some much needed free time," Flitwick announced, and this was met with a louder cheering and whistling from the class. The miniscule professor held up a miniscule hand and squeaked, "but our practice will resume on the day after that, and since the Graduation Ball is only two weeks away I will be firmer and more demanding of you. That's it then, you may go! Oh, except for Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger. A word, please." 

The sounds of shuffling feet and ceasing murmurs crowded the small room as the others left. Draco caught some whispers here and there, mostly the usual "I'll kill you Malfoy!" from Weasley coupled with "Die Malfoy die!" from Potter and the "I'm going to buy new robes today!" from Pansy with the "I think Harry just groped me!" from Blaise. 

He couldn't decide yet which statement was the most ridiculous so he decided that all of them were ridiculous and left it at that. 

"Yes, Professor?" Granger intoned when they were the only ones left in the classroom. 

Flitwick adjusted his glasses and looked at them. "First of all, I would like to tell you, Mr. Malfoy, that I did not appreciate your coming in late today." He focused on him. "You should've sent word to me or to Miss Granger so that she didn't have to wait long for your arrival."

_I'd rather drown in my own blood than do that. _Draco blinked and put on his most innocent expression. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said. "It's just that I was really feeling bad earlier this morning and I… well I had to make an effort to drag myself off my bed because I knew how important this practice was. I truly apologize for my tardiness, sir." He turned to Granger. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I would never do it again."

"*cough*_liar_!*cough*"

"Very well," the professor said, ignoring Granger and smiling. "Though you were only able to practice some of the routines you both did extremely well today, and I think that you are truly worthy to be placed at the center. The spotlight will be on you two!"

Draco tried to look ready to vomit when inside he felt really elated. Granger, on the other hand, tried to look elated when she really _was _ready to vomit. 

"Also, I received word from Professors McGonagall and Snape that you two are our valedictorians this year, and I can't say I'm surprised. You both deserve it. Congratulations!" He took their hands and shook them fanatically. Draco had to hand it to Flitwick; he really was a sport. From what he heard, in the past the valedictorians usually came from Ravenclaw but this year, well… a Slytherin and a Gryffindor beat them to it. _Ha_. 

"I would have you know that garnering this honor gives you the chance to be interviewed for our newly-established school paper," the professor continued, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "The interview will take place at precisely three this afternoon inside this classroom. Padma Patil – I'm sure you both know her – will conduct the interview that will be published as soon as possible."    

Draco said, "Excellent." To be honest he'd rather plot against Granger – scheming was fun, especially the part where he was visualizing her humiliation - but he wouldn't dare pass an opportunity to reinforce the knowledge of how (ahem) truly great, amazing, and exceptionally talented Draco Malfoy was. After all, not only the students read the paper but also their parents, friends, relatives… 

It was a disgrace that he had to share the limelight with Granger, but still. Limelight. _Duh_.     

"Excuse me sir," she suddenly said, a light in her eyes and a smile on her face, "did you just say that we're going to be interviewed today and this interview will be published in the school paper _and_ circulated as soon as possible?"

_Hermione Granger, Brilliant Paraphraser, _Draco thought, amused. 

Flitwick nodded. "I hope you'd be available for that."

"Oh," she said, nodding her bushy head like crazy, "I wouldn't dare miss it for the world."

Alarm bells resounded inside Draco's head, but he ignored that. After all, she couldn't really do anything to him again because a) he ordered Goyle to screen his owls (he wasn't exactly in speaking terms with Crabbe because of the whole – ahem – seizure incident) and b) he ordered the latest version of _SneakoscopeTM _ that would guard him from all known plotting against him. Granted, the merchandise hadn't arrived yet, but still. He was on the lookout.

"Very well," Flitwick said. "You're both dismissed."

Granger walked in front of him and he followed; there was a bounce in her step that he couldn't ignore. "For someone who'd been dumped you look extremely elated," he pointed out. 

She whirled to face him and instead of a frown there was a dazzling grin on her face that he thought was rather striking. "It's just that I feel so excited about the upcoming interview," she said, eyes twinkling and hands clutching each other. "You should too, you know."

"Why? What are you going to do to me?" 

She blinked innocently and said, "I've absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"*cough*_liar!_*cough*"

Granger oh-so-delicately snorted. "My, my, Malfoy. Becoming a bit paranoid, hmm? Well, maybe you do have a right to be suspicious, because… oh, but telling you would spoil my fun. See you!" 

"See you this afternoon, luv!" he called out, and he was rewarded with a look that would have frozen his conscience if ever he had one. Draco shook his head and decided to walk back to his room to prepare for the interview. But his feet brought him instead to the Great Hall… and he spent a good thirty minutes silently congratulating himself for a job excellently done.

Finally, he entered the Slytherin Common Room. He was immediately assaulted by a shrieking Blaise, whose shrieks resembled a Mandrake's and were just as deadly. "Blaise," he said quietly, "shut up."

Miraculously, she did, and Draco found himself at the receiving end of many pats and thank-yous from Slytherins who weren't brave enough to silence the banshee. 

"Oh my God, Draco!!!" shrieked Blaise again, and soon the common room was devoid of other Slytherin students. Draco cursed his luck for being one of the two who remained. "You won't believe what happened to me today!!!"

"Let me guess," he said tonelessly. "Potter groped you?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Oh my God!!! It felt like I died and went to heaven!!! You should've seen it!!! It was unbelievable!!!"

_Do let's punctuate each sentence with three exclamation points, _he thought, wincing as she launched into a mucus-y tale filled with screeches and squeals of how the Famous Harry Potter 'accidentally' touched her on her… 

Well, he wasn't really listening, so he didn't know where the stupid git touched her. Not that he cared anyway. 

"It was really fleeting, but I swear on The Dark Lord's grave that he—"

"Blaise," he cut in, giving her a threatening look, "I don't really give a damn."

The other Slytherin promptly shut her mouth, and then marched out of the common room. A minute later her shrieks were heard again, thankfully very faint and distant.  

Draco exhaled loudly, and then plopped himself down a chair. He grabbed a book entitled _Eight Thousand Highly Effective Habits of Highly Successful Wizards and Witches _by _I.M. Arichbich _(the _ch_s were pronounced as _k_s, he was told)and engrossed himself on **Tip Number Four**: _How to outsmart the people who bested you before_.

Before he knew it, he'd already spent hours reading the book. He looked up when he heard the heavy door open and close. He grimaced as he saw Pansy enter the room with a very curious and questioning look on her face, scrutinizing each part of the room as though she hadn't spent seven years living there. Not noticing that she was being watched, Pansy went to one corner and immediately inspected a bookshelf that was quietly resting and hadn't been touched by anyone other than Draco. "What are you doing?" he asked, and immediately she dropped the book she took out. 

"Err…" She hastily picked up and pushed the book inside. "I was just… looking around," she said, turning to face him. Pansy's eyes were riveted to the book he was holding and she brightened. "Oh! I also have that book in my—"

Draco raised his brows. "You read?"

Pansy looked outraged. "Of course I do, you arrogant bast— I mean, of course, Draco _dear_. I perfected the Potions exam, didn't I?"

"One of these days," he said, closing the book and standing up, "you're going to tell me how you did it. Unfortunately that day won't be today because I still have loads to do – prepare my valedictory address, humiliate Granger – you know, _very_ important things." 

"Speaking of Granger," Pansy said, sliding next to him, "did you do the whole display at the Great Hall?"

Draco frowned at her. Something was wrong with Pansy today… well, something always _was _but today it was extraordinarily blatant. Her tone, her stance, the uncanny presence of intelligence in her normally vacant eyes… "Pansy," he said patiently, "how many times do I have to tell you that muggle nail polish isn't a drink. You were supposed to—"

He stopped when she burst out laughing. "I'm… I'm sorry…" she said in between each horrible giggle. "It's just that… that… ahem." Pansy wiped tears from her eyes and then straightened herself. "You were saying?"

"You're acting really strange today," he muttered, walking away from her. 

"Malf—I mean, Draco _dear_, wait up!" she called. He stopped and looked at her expectantly. "All right, I'll get out of your sight only if you answer my initial question. Now did you?" she asked, her voice suspiciously vehement. 

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course I _didn't_."

She looked shocked. "You… didn't?"

Merlin, this woman was dense. She vaguely reminded him of Granger. "Are you daft?" He paused. "Wait. Stupid question. Have you forgotten? I paid some lower years to do it for me, and—"

"I knew it!" she exclaimed. Then, catching hold of herself she said, "I mean, of course I knew it, I was just… um… trying to see if you knew that I knew… and… err…"

A very uncomfortable silence surfaced. His opinion of Pansy, though not high, certainly wasn't in Weasley's or Potter's level. Now it was on the brink of descending to that. "If I didn't know better, I'll swear you're not Pansy," he stated. 

A faint blush crept up her cheeks, and again Draco was hit with an image of Granger, though he couldn't fathom why it did. While he was immersed in his thoughts Pansy grabbed hold of his nape and pulled him towards her. Their lips meshed and it took him a few minutes to get away. "Bloody hell, Parkinson! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he sputtered.

She flashed him a brilliant smile. "You'll see." And she was gone, a bounce in her step evident as she walked out the room.     

Draco tried to collect his wits after the whole incident. How odd was that! He knew that Pansy wanted something to happen between them but he also knew _she_ also knew that that something was _never _going to happen between them, so— 

"Dra-co!" The door opened again and, _again_, Pansy emerged from it, carrying dozens of bags that wore the emblem of different muggle brands. "Oh, I'm so glad I caught you. Mother told me to give you this—"

"Where did you get those?" he demanded, thoroughly confused. 

She blinked. "What?"

"You were here a moment ago, and you didn't have those bags," he elaborated. Draco wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "You even kissed me."

Pansy's expression immediately darkened. "One, I spent the entire lunch hour shopping." She lifted the bags as evidence. "And two, I didn't kiss you." She snorted. "Like you'd let me."

"But—"

She went to him and placed a hand over his forehead. "Are you okay? Have you had your lunch? Well it's almost three, and if you didn't—"

"Three?!" he repeated, rushing towards the door. He almost forgot the interview for the paper! Draco wished he had his broomstick with him, but he didn't so he concentrated on running all the way. Ten minutes later, and he was catching his breath in front of the door.   

A sharp tap alerted him and he turned to see Granger at his side. "Are you okay?"

_What do you care? _"No. I think that someone, I've no idea who, used a potion and transformed herself to Pansy to kiss me."

She blinked at his answer. He blinked at his answer. "Um, what?" she asked. 

_Bloody freaking hell! _"I said, I think that someone wanted to kiss me so badly—"

Granger held up a hand. "That's enough, thank you." Then, she grinned. "Did you do the whole display at the Great Hall?"

He was taken aback by the question. _Of course not. _"I paid some third years to do it." _Bloody freaking hell! Did I just tell her the truth?_

She patted his arm. "That's all I wanted to hear, Draco _dear_."  

He stilled as his blood chilled. "It was you," he whispered, his temper and blood pressure rising. "_You _were the one who impersonated Pansy and you…" Suddenly, a slow smile made his mouth widen. "You _kissed_ me."

"One major setback," she admitted, frowning. "It was necessary for my plan to work."

Alarm bells rang uselessly inside his brain. _Stupid bells._ "What plan?"

"You'll see." She looked past him and waved. "Hi, Padma!"

The Ravenclaw waved back. "I'm sorry I'm late. Were you waiting long?"

"No." clashed with "Yes."

Patil looked at him. "Oh I'm sorry I made you wait, Malfoy."

"No you're not."

"No," she admitted with a wink at Granger. "I'm not."

"Let's go inside," Granger said, pushing the door open. 

Patil went inside, and before Granger could he pulled her arm back towards him. "What did you do to me?" he demanded. 

She smiled dazzlingly. "I just felt some dash of truth in your interview wouldn't hurt a bit. After all, the school paper won't be credible when it's full of your flattering lies would it?" 

"It won't." His hold on her tightened as the awful truth hit him. Draco snarled, "If something happens because of this—"

Granger yanked her arm out of his hold. "Trust me," she said, "something _will_."

"All right," the Ravenclaw said once Draco and Granger were seated at the front. "Now I'm going to ask you several questions, and that—" She pointed at a quill and several layers of paper on a table, "will take all your answers. We will print everything verbatim, and we won't edit anything out… except the 'ums' and 'errs' of course." She grabbed a piece of paper and read from it. "Now for the first question: what did you feel after you learned that you will graduate with the highest honor in our class? Hermione?"

Granger smiled (like it was going to be taped, he thought with a grimace) and said, "I felt really blessed and grateful that all my years of hard work and perseverance finally paid off. It is such an honor and I feel proud of myself for this accomplishment."

"And you, Draco?"

This was relatively an easy question to answer. "I felt that _finally _I was being given an honor that was robbed from me several times over." _Crap. _"Actually, I think it's only fair that _I _become the valedictorian. I_ truly_ deserve it because of my extraordinary good looks and skills."

Granger was sniggering on her seat. Patil was quiet, looking at him with wide eyes. "That was… truly modest of you," she commented dryly. "Now, next question… what moment or memory in Hogwarts do you consider as your best?"

"Um… I'd have to say the time when Harry won the Quidditch Cup for us Gryffindors," she answered with a fond smile. 

He frowned as the truth poured from him. "This is a pathetic question. Of course the best moment for me was when I learned that I was a valedictorian. How unfortunate for me that I _had_ to share the honor with a Muggleborn, but still. Honor. Duh." 

"And the worst?"

"Well… I don't think I have an experience I consider as the worst because—"

"Oh come on, now who's full of crap?" 

Two heads whirled to face him. "Excuse me?" Granger asked. 

He turned to face her. "You wanted the truth? You got it." He looked at the Ravenclaw. "Mine was when I was turned into a ferret by that idiot professor. I'm sure everybody considers that as their best, but for me it was a humiliating, totally degrading experience that I would kill to remove from my perfect existence."

Patil looked like she was keeping herself from laughing. "Next question: Who is the person you consider your role model?"

"My parents," Granger answered without a second thought.

"Myself," Draco answered without a second thought. 

"And the person you dedicate this honor to?"

"My parents."

"Myself." 

"And what do you want to do after graduation?"

"Um…" Granger twisted her fingers around. "Actually, I'm torn because a part of me wants to be an auror, while the other wants to become a professor here at Hogwarts. I guess it'll depend on what offer comes first."

"Draco?" 

He was silent for a whole minute, fighting within himself to keep his mouth shut. _Must. Not. Talk. Must. Not. Reveal— _"I want to model for _Witch Weekly_." _Note to self: tomorrow I commit suicide, make it look like murder. _

"Very ambitious," retorted Granger. "I'm sure that'll happen in the near future."

_Correction: make it look like Granger murdered me. _He cradled his head in his hands. "Shut up. If you must know, I got an offer and I am seriously considering it."

"Well," she said amicably, "they must be pretty desperate if they want _you_ on their cover."

Patil grinned in a very annoying way. "Final question: What can you say about each other? Especially since this whole graduation event throws you together often, with the dance, the speech…"

"Well," Granger started with a glance at him, "as much as I am reluctant to reveal it, I think that Malf—err, Draco, deserve to be a valedictorian because I can't deny for a fact that he is a brilliant student. I congratulate him for a job well done." She then turned her attention to him. 

"I…" _want to murder her. A slow, excruciatingly painful death through strangulation would be nice. It'll save me the trouble of having her around. _"I think that Hermione Granger also deserves the honor because she is indeed very intelligent. Nobody else – except me, of course – would be fitting to claim the title. And she is definitely at par with me in dancing. I truly think that we are a perfect match in every possible way."

At the end of his answer, two mouths were gaping open: Granger's and his. _Holy mother of Merlin, I can't believe I just said that! Bloody stupid spell, stupid interview, stupid Pansy, stupid Granger! Bloody bleeding hell! I'm going to die! And I'm going to take her with me!_

"All right!" Patil said cheerily. "I think we got it all covered. Thank you very much for an entertaining interview." And she packed her little things and went off frolicking into the damned sunshine.

"Um…" Granger said when they were alone. "Well, um…"

"Just go," he said weakly. "You must be oh-so-happy you got your revenge. By the time that paper's published, I'll be the laughingstock of the entire wizarding world."

She bit her lip. "You deserve it for making me look like an idiot," she retorted, though not as strong as before. 

"Go," he repeated. "Leave me alone."

Granger nodded, but before she took a step she said, "What I said was also the truth, if that helps." And she was gone.

The morning that followed a not-so-perfect afternoon brought him a copy of the _Hogwarts' Howlers_ and a very real, very angry howler from his own mother. 

       
**Author's Notes: **I must admit, this chapter definitely had a long time coming. I'm sorry, guys… but if it helps this is definitely the longest chapter ever! *waves a white flag* Hopefully, you won't have to wait for too long for the next chapters ;) 

Thank you, thank you, thank you for those who reviewed the last chapter… I was so overwhelmed with the responses this fic is getting from y'all. Thanks! **Oh, and for the readers of 'Abyss'… it's also updated.** Yup. Been a busy beaver lately to make up for the lost week. I love you guys! I hope you enjoyed this, and see you next time!  


	5. Chapter Five

Divine Humiliation 

I.M. Arichbich's **Tip Number One**: NEVER feel guilty for rubbing your success on your enemies' faces wasn't helping her in the least.

"Stupid book," Hermione said, throwing the piece of trash on the floor. In the past she treated the book like a bible – she used to randomly open a page and the tip written on it would be her motto for the day. It was so sacred it would be a sacrilege for her to not adhere the tips. But now, the first rule to becoming successful, the one that used to be so logical and so easy to do, had become the most difficult of them all.

Because Hermione Granger was feeling guilty for what she did to Draco Malfoy. And something about that was just _not_ right.

She tried every method she could in order to rid herself of the gnawing, clawing feeling of guilt inside her. She thought of the things he did to her – calling her a Mudblood, harassing her friends, insulting everything concerning _and_ about her, stealing her valedictorian glory, and then orchestrating that pathetic display at the Great Hall. Granted, she answered with, ahem, more creative, more cunning, and more clever tricks that made his pranks look dumb and lame. Tip number thirty-seven conveniently came to her mind back then: If an idiot pokes you in the shoulder, stab him in the eye.

But the latest stab she did probably went too deep for both their comforts. After the interview yesterday, she left him looking so down and forlorn it wasn't amusing anymore. He seemed so pathetic it was bordering on pitiable.

And she _knew_ that Draco Malfoy wasn't the type to be pitied. He was the type who just _deserved_ to be publicly castrated.   

So why wasn't she feeling jovial for having been the one who orchestrated his castration?

"_Hermione_!" Ginny shrieked, flying into the common room with the _Hogwarts' Howlers _in her hands. She waved it excitedly. "Have you read this? Oh, can I just say that this must be their finest edition _ever_—"

"It's their _first_ edition, Ginny," Hermione answered with a disgruntled glance at the front page. It showed a picture of Harry holding the Quidditch Cup, and she did a double take. A sense of hope renewed her. "Oh. It's about our winning the Quidditch Cup?" Maybe nobody had yet read the interview. Maybe she could talk to Padma about 'editing' some stuff. Maybe—

"Oh, no, silly!" Ginny rolled her eyes and rummaged through the pages. "Who cares about that stuff anymore? It _was _obvious we're going to win it anyway—"

"I truly admire your house loyalty," she said, eyeing the other girl with disdain.

Ginny waved her hand. "No, I just meant that _this—­_" She shoved a page right into Hermione's face, "—is more interesting than Harry's victory."

She fought the suffocating newspaper off her face to properly look at it. There, on the fourteenth page, was _The Interview_. It even had a picture of her and Malfoy sitting on chairs and their mouths moving, though Malfoy looked like he just swallowed a Snitch because of his incredibly uncomfortable expression. Hermione gulped as she scanned through the article. She decided to play dumb. "It's our interview," she said. "What's so interesting about it? I mean, I was there and I was _bored_." 

Ginny took the newspaper from her and jabbed at the picture several times. "It says here that _Dray-coh Mahl-foy_ –" she enunciated helpfully, "wants to model for Witch Weekly, and—"

"And?"

Ginny immersed herself in browsing, and then grinned. "_And_—" She paused for a more dramatic effect; "Malfoy said he thinks you two are a perfect match _in every possible way!_" She placed a hand on her forehead and pretended to faint. "If a guy says _that_ about me then I'd have jumped on him right then and there."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't see the reason why you should, or why _I_ should for that matter." _Pause, shudder, vomit at the mental image._

Ginny looked affronted. "Honestly, Hermione! The guy practically _proposed_ to you! What more do you want?"

Well _that _was surprising. She never thought of it that way! Hermione prayed she wasn't blushing as she said, "That's absurd. Of course he wasn't proposing! Maybe he was just… I don't know, trying to pass off as though he regards me highly or something. Honestly, Ginny. Malfoy was probably lying through his teeth!" Of course the bloody truth spell prevented him from doing so, but nobody else needed to know that.

"Featured word, 'probably'," Ginny deadpanned.

"He's going out with Parkinson," Hermione responded with a flourish.   

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Stop living in the past, Hermione Granger. Haven't you heard? Those two _never_ dated. Featured word, 'never'. All of it was a cover up for the parents. Featured words, 'cover up'." Ginny winked at her. "Who knows, maybe the Slytherin git fancies you as much as you fancy him. Featured words, 'fancies _you'_."

Now _that _was insulting. "I do _not _fancy Malfoy," she said through gritted teeth. "How many times do I have to tell you that I did _not_ do that display! I will _not_ ask Draco Malfoy for the Graduation Ball, _not_ now, _not_ ever! The featured word, in case you've missed it, is 'NOT'."

"Hypothetical situation: let's say I believe you, Hermio—"

"Hypothetical situation: what if I shove that newspaper up your—"

"Hermione," Ginny continued as if she hadn't been interrupted with a threat of physical violence, "let's say I believe you didn't do the display at the Great Hall—" She inserted a slimy smile that obviously said 'yeah, right' "—and that you _wouldn't_ ask Malfoy for the dance. But what if _he _asks _you,_ huh? Would you go with him?"

And _that_, ladies and gentlemen, was the million-dollar question. "He wouldn't," Hermione answered simply and quickly.

"_This _proves he just might," Ginny said, waving the newspaper as evidence. 

"That proves _nothing_," Hermione countered vehemently. "You know, I'm so surprised you're making such a big deal out of that interview. I mean, for Merlin's sake, don't you have better things to do than… than… _wave that at my face_?"

The Gryffindor took the hint and stopped waving. "Fine," she said flippantly. "But if he asks you out, you'll get a big, fat I-TOLD-YOU-SO from me." And she was gone, conveniently unequipped with the newspaper she was armed with only moments ago. 

Hermione sighed, rolled the newspaper, lifted the cushion out of the couch, and shoved it underneath. She replaced the cushion and grunted. Now, she felt not only _guilt_ but also _humiliation_, because Malfoy's answer implicated things that were _definitely_ out of her comfort zone. _Way to go, dumbass._

"I need to get out," she murmured. Thankfully she didn't have practice today so she didn't have to face the dumbass in question. Since Flitwick gave them the morning off, she planned on asking permission for a leisurely walk around Hogsmeade. It was the perfect break she needed.

Surprisingly, the hallways were devoid of students young and old. A frown fleeted across her face, but she dismissed it, thinking it was definitely better to be ignorant of things than be in the center of unwanted attention. Hermione began to relax as she walked.

Before she reached McGonagall's office, however, a red-faced Ron forced her into a corner. "Hey," she greeted cautiously, taking the color on his face as that brought about by anger. "Are you okay?"

"Hermione," he said, ignoring her question. "I… um… I want to ask you something."

_Please not about the interview not about the interview not about the interview… _"Sure."

His ears burned a bright-red hue as he fumbled for words. "Um… how much is a… I mean, you're a Muggleborn, right?" He didn't wait for the obvious answer. "Of course you are. So you know… you know the price of stuff in the Muggle world, right? Of course you do. I mean—"

Hermione drew a blank as she tried to digest what he was saying. One thing was for certain, though: it _wasn't_ about the interview. _Thank heavens._ "Ron, just ask me the damn question."

He looked at her, summoned every fiber of courage he had, and asked, "Do you think I could buy a robe with fifteen Sickles?"

She was quiet for a moment. "I honestly don't know," she answered, looking at him strangely. "My mum buys my robes for me so I don't know how much one costs. But, Ron, what's this got to do with me knowing the price of Muggle stuff?"

"Nothing!" he said quickly. "Hey, I think I saw Pa—er, Harry. Bye!" And off Ron went.

"Strange people, these Weasleys," she muttered under her breath. _And it took you _seven_ years to realize that? _her brain berated. She continued on her way to the door.

Without warning, Hermione was caught in a tight grip and her vision filled with a very angry Harry. The color on his face effectively placed Ron's to shame. "Harry?" she asked. Just then, she heard a voice that was soft one moment then loud the next…

"I'm HARRY'S peaCOCK! I'm HARRY'S peaCOCK!"

She glanced behind him, and saw an offending, profane creature. "Oh my God," she muttered, fixing her gaze at Harry's very angry eyes. "Is that—"

"IT BLOODY HELL IS!!!" Harry exploded, his fingers digging angrily into her flesh. "ANOTHER BLOODY GIFT!!!"

Hermione yelped, and he released her. She looked at the peacock, with its brightly colored tail, its red and green ribbon hanging from its neck, and its mouth opening to say, "I'm HARRY'S peaCOCK! I'm HARRY'S peaCOCK!"

"I AM BLOODY SERIOUS THIS TIME!!!" Harry exploded again, angrily stamping his foot on the ground. He angrily pointed at the poor bird. "I AM GOING TO BLOODY MUTILATE BLOODY BLAISE ZABINI!!!" And angrily he went, with the perky peacock proudly proclaiming, "I'm HARRY'S peaCOCK! I'm HARRY'S peaCOCK!"

She shook her head. Amazing how people could be so pathetic. An image of Malfoy hovered in her head, and with a guilty sigh she dismissed it. 

Just when she were fifteen steps away from the office, her arm was yanked so viciously Hermione thought she heard a popping sound from her shoulder. The next thing she knew, she was dragged inside a very dark room and pushed against a wall. A hand immediately covered her mouth, which was a good thing, because she was ready to curse whoever the bastard was to hell.

"Be quiet," her captor ordered sternly. _Malfoy_.

Being the sensible, intelligent woman that she was notorious for, Hermione bared her teeth and bit on the small amount of flesh she had contact with.

"OWWW!!!" Malfoy howled, releasing her from his hold. "You bit me you stupid—"

"Be quiet!" she retorted, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. In the last few days her mouth had had more contact with a part of Malfoy than she _ever_ wanted to have. _Disgusting. Vile. Yuck. _"What's the big idea, huh? Dragging me into this room and shoving me up a wall? What're you planning to do with me, huh?" The quiet room resounded with her voice, making it all the more obvious that she was screaming the words out.

"Stop conjuring evil images in your head, Granger. I feel so molested. I don't have any plans with you."

"Then good morning and go to hell." She turned her back to him and groped for the door.

"At least, not _yet_."

Hermione stilled. And turned. "_Excuse me?_"

"I'm assuming you've read the _Hogwarts' Howlers,_" Malfoy said, the last words filled with so much contempt he was spitting them out.

Wiping saliva from her arms (_Disgusting. Vile. Yuck_!) she nodded, remembered he couldn't see her, and said, "Only the part about…um, _us_."

"You and the rest of the bloody student body!" And he started throwing a fit as sounds of chairs being pushed filled the room.

"Not that I want to see you," Hermione started, "but can we talk with the lights on? It feels so strange talking to you in the dark."

Without warning, a flame shot in front of her towards the ceiling, igniting several candles resting on metal circles at once. Hermione blinked, her eyes adjusting to the sudden intrusion of light. She gasped at the sight the candles conjured.

Malfoy looked like he'd been to hell already. Circles under his eyes, unkempt robes, disheveled hair… _disheveled hair?! _Now _those _were the two words she'd never dreamed of stringing together. It felt… _wrong_."Rough night?" she asked.

He glared at her with enough animosity to chill the air around them. "Let's just see how you could start the day all bright and dandy when you've got your mother's howler howling at you for a good thirty minutes."

"So… rough morning?"

He took a step towards her, looking ready to throttle.

Hermione raised her hands in defense. "Kidding!"

"This is all _your_ fault," he accused, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you haven't slipped me that truth potion—"

"—I wouldn't have done that if you didn't do that stupid dis—"

"—that's just retaliation for stripping me in front of—"

"—something I did _only_ because you humiliated me first." Hermione folded her arms over her chest. "So, honestly this—" she gestured around with a hand, "—is all_ your _fault."

Malfoy pursed his lips. Then, surprisingly, hung his head and chuckled. "I guess we're pretty even, then."

"There's no such thing as 'pretty even'," she snapped. "So if you've got nothing more to say then good morning and go back to hell."

He walked to the door and casually leaned on it, effectively preventing her from going out.

"What do you think you're doing?" she sputtered.

"You're not listening, Granger," he muttered dryly. "I said I've got plans involving you."

She rolled her eyes. "Since when _haven't_ your plans involved me?"

He grinned. "Touché." Malfoy ran his hand through his hair, trying to subdue it but obviously failing to do so since strands still managed to stand on end, making him look like Crookshanks after a violent bath. Crookshanks had never looked so ugly before "We're going out."

Images of wet, bathing cats vanished from her head. "Excuse me?!"

He grinned wider. "I have to buy a few things, and I've decided to take you along with me."

_The nerve of this bloody blond bastard!_ "And what made you _think_ that I'm going with you?"

"Well, one, I need an assistant, since I may not be able to carry all the things I need to get from Hogsmeade."

"Let me get this straight." Right now there's nothing in the world she wanted to do more than run her hands through his wet, golden hair… then yank it out of its bloody roots. "You need me to carry things for you?" She snorted. "What am I, a house elf?"

"Hmm. You as a house elf…" Malfoy got a dreamy look on his face. "There's a thought." He sighed. "But I guess you're just too incompetent to be one." He held up a hand when she was about to scream bloody murder. "You're distracting me from the topic at hand. Another reason why I'm sure you're going with me, is _this_."

A shiny, shimmer-y splendor of a necklace dangled from his finger, and Hermione gasped as the tear-shaped ruby pendant's luminescence reached her eyes. "What—"

Before she could say more, his face loomed before hers. A snap sounded in the room, and she looked down to see the necklace dangling from _her_ neck. She swallowed. The necklace was exquisite.

Naturally, she was suspicious. Hermione squinted at him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" 

His eyes were drawn to the ruby pendant, and he dragged them upwards to meet hers. "Perfect," he purred.

A shiver passed through her, but she convinced herself that it was because of anger and not—

"Take off your robe." His eyes were especially bright when he spoke.

She snorted again. "You're dreaming."

Malfoy raised his brows. "Then why are you undressing?"

Hermione looked down and was shocked to find her fingers nimbly peeling off her robe. She tried to stop her movements but they were choreographed, like she was nothing but a doll with limbs attached to strings and being made to move despite her protests.

Moments later, and her robe were draped on her arm. Her eyes were slits as she glared at him. "You've placed an Imperius Curse on me, didn't you."

Malfoy shook his head. "I'm not stupid to commit _that_ in school. It's just that, now, my will is stronger than yours and that makes you do _whatever_ I want you to do." His eyes sparkled with unmistakable malice.

She put two and two together. "The necklace," she bit out, pointing at the offending object on her neck. "This necklace—"

"—looks beautiful on you," he said, grinning no longer. "And as long as you have that on, you're under me." The grin returned. "Figuratively, of course. Unless…" Malfoy winked at her.

Hermione let out a cry of outrage, and posed to snatch the offensive jewel off her.

"Don't," he ordered, and immediately her actions ceased. "You are _not_ to remove that necklace, do you hear me? Say yes."

"Yes." She gritted her teeth. "So help me, Malfoy, if I ever get out of this curse—"

"Don't fret, luv," he said, dragging a finger down her cheek. The smile he gave her was promising. "It's only for a few measly hours. Follow me." Malfoy opened the door, and her feet moved after him. "I can't wait to show off my… assistant. But I have to look presentable, don't I?" He shoved her out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Hermione never felt this much rage in her entire life. She'd much rather have tea and cookies with Voldemort and the Death Eaters than be Draco Malfoy's slave for a day! Of all the possible mortifying experiences out there, this one far outweighed them all! She tried not to think of the things she had to do _to—_ or _with_– him… it was impossible not to shudder or cringe. 

And she was actually feeling sorry for him?

_Horrible incorrigible terrible bloody blond bastard! You just wait, so help me I'll murder you!_

He came out a few moments later, looking so clean and bright he shone like a Galleon. "Let's go out."

"I don't have permission," she gritted.

"Dah-ling, when you're with me you won't need it," he said suavely. To prove his point they both walked out of the castle and not once did anyone move to stop them.

The walk to Hogsmeade reminded Hermione of a biblical scenario where a prophet was made to walk towards his doom. This was exactly like that, because she knew – she just _knew_ – that this was a chance for Malfoy to humiliate her in front of, well, anyone.

It was cold. Hermione decided to put on her robe, and when she accomplished that she paused. What's that he said? "My will is _stronger_ than yours…" That meant hers still existed despite the curse! Maybe she could escape! Maybe she could take the stupid necklace off her, throw it at his head, and run like hell. Then she'd hope for the best, which included a lovely bump bulging on his gorgeous head.

But before she could try her plan the bastard stepped beside her and took her arm. "Just so you won't get lost," he said.

Stupid idiot.

Hermione looked around her when they arrived. Fortunately, she couldn't see anyone from Hogwarts, so news of her humiliation – or whatever the dumbass had planned for her – wouldn't hopefully reach them. Maybe no one even knew they were here…

"Mr. Malfoy, oh, Draco!"

So much for that thought.

Hermione had time to glance at the woman's face before she buried it on Malfoy's neck. _What is she, a vampire? _He let go of her arm and hugged the wench back.

Stupid idiot.

"Hello, Georgiana," he cooed, then removed the wench's hands off him.

The wench – oh, where's her manners, _Georgiana_ – smiled a very toothy smile, showing off her straight and perfectly white molars. "Oh, I'm so glad I saw you. I've read the _Hogwarts' Howlers_ and I would love to get a commentary about—"

"Well, you see, Georgiana, Ms. Granger—" he pointed at her, "—_begged_ me to accompany her around Hogsmeade, so I'm afraid the commentary would have to wait."

The wench – _excuse me, Georgiana_ – glanced at her. "Oh. _You're_ Ms. Granger, I see. I didn't recognize you at all because you looked almost pretty in the picture. Well." She looked at Malfoy again. "We'll talk soon?"      

Malfoy's smile looked forced. "Soon is perfectly fine with me."

"Oh! Perfect." The wench – _blast it, Georgiana! _– smiled again. "'Til then!" And finally she left.

"Who's she?" Hermione asked, unable to stop herself from inquiring about the wench. Georgiana. Whatever.

"Georgiana Sinclair," Malfoy answered, as they went inside a shop full of objects and people. There, he grabbed several objects and dumped them on her outstretched hands. Immediately she heard murmurs around them, and bits like 'Hogwarts', 'Head Girl and Boy' and 'elf'. "She's one of those snoopy reporters for _The Daily Prophet_."  

"_Daily Prophet?"_ And the wench saw them _together_? "You don't think she'll draw conclusions from seeing us _together_, don't you?"

He took a small sack from his robes and gave it to the owner of a shop. "Who cares? Oh, wait." Malfoy grinned at her. "_You_ do. Give Mr. Salazar those."  

She did, and the owner started wrapping them. "What do you mean you don't? You can't tell me you don't care if they publish something about _us_!"

"I just did." The dumbass shrugged. "Calm down, Granger! Honestly, the entire point of this walk was for _me_ to relax and unwind. I can't exactly relax and unwind if I constantly have you nagging your brains out."

"You can't stop me," she said. Then cursed when he grinned.

"Actually, I can."

She began to panic. "Oh no. Don't you dare. Don't you dare! You assho—!!!"

"Shut up."

And her mouth did not cooperate with her for the entire duration of the trip.

Hermione's feet hurt. Her shoulders throbbed. Her stomach howled. What's worse, she carried dozens of plastic bags containing clothes, shoes, candies, and things of all sorts. Today, she learned that Malfoy was a compulsive buyer. He bought anything that shone like his hair or were white as his teeth or gray as his eyes. In short, he bought everything that interested him for they reminded him of _himself_.

Of course, another reason why he was buying things was because he wanted _her_ to hold them for him. So here she was, lagging behind because of the weight she was carrying while he walked light and carefree.

Egotistical son of a bitc— 

"Enjoying yourself?"

He had the nerve to ask! Her tongue itched to lash out, but the stupid necklace was stopping her from doing just that. Hermione contented herself with throwing him a look of pure hate, loathe, and anger.

Shutting her up was truly the cruelest thing _anyone_ could do to her. Naturally, only _Malfoy_ could've come up with it.

"I'd have to say, a quiet Granger is a rather enjoyable one," Malfoy continued, as though he had not a companion imagining his death and relishing it. "And you carry those bags really well. You must be built for hard labor." After a moment's thought he said, "Maybe you'd be a wonderful house elf after all."

Her grip tightened on the bags she held against her chest. _I want to say something. I want to talk, damn it! Let me talk! I hate you, you disgusting _"…prick."

Malfoy paused. "Excuse me?"

"I said—" Her eyes widened as she found herself free from the longest torture of her life. "I said you're a complete bastard to do this to me! This is _not _humiliation, let me tell you. This is downright degradation! Everything in me hurts, damn you! I'm hungry and these bags are heavy and you purposely bought them to make me suffer, didn't you?" She didn't give him a chance to speak. "I'm tired of following you around like a dog! I'm _not_ a house elf! I'm Hermione Granger, and I'm—" 

—_screaming in the midst of Hogsmeade_. Hermione promptly shut her mouth and had the grace to blush when people started looking at her.

"Now it _is_ humiliation," Malfoy mocked.

Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. And she still couldn't find the will to drop the bags! "I hate you." 

"The feeling is mutual, I assure you." He waved a hand dismissively. "But let it be said that even the best of enemies still hold respect for each other. We're going back to Hogwarts, but first..." Malfoy went inside a jewelry shop.

Hermione turned away. Her pride was stinging, damn it. Here she was, reduced to almost nothing, reduced to Malfoy's _slave_. And with a lot of people as witnesses! He'd gone too far. 

He emerged from the shop, and she noticed him slipping a small velvet box inside his robe. "Let go," he said, and her arms dropped the bags she was holding.

Oh, blessed relief. She flexed her arms, getting the blood to circulate again. Hermione said nothing. At this moment, she was trying very hard not to strangle him.

Malfoy grabbed his wand and performed a spell so that his things were floating behind them. They went back to Hogwarts, and when they arrived he charmed them to float towards his room.  

The walk to the Great Hall was a very quiet, stiff one. Hermione was full of indignation and anger, and she'd be damned to let him get out of this so easily. _Tomorrow, _she vowed, drilling a hole on his gorgeous head. _I'll show you hell tomorrow. _

But he wasn't done yet.

To her horror, Malfoy ordered her to sit with him in the Slytherin table. Gasps from all the houses could be heard, and if it weren't so humiliating it would've been funny. She thought she heard McGonagall thumping Snape on the back because the latter choked on his meal. Seamus and Dean were trying to keep Harry and Ron down on their table. They seem to have forgotten how to speak English, what with the unintelligible sounds sprouting from their mouths and all.

_Don't say anything. Don't even _look_ at anything._

Hermione ate her meal in stoic silence, never attempting to initiate conversations with the Slytherins. Not that they were keen in letting her join any of theirs, anyway. She did notice, however, that Malfoy was very quiet, Parkinson _wasn't _the least bit affected by her presence, and Zabini actually smiled all the way through lunch.

_Weird._

After her meal she stood and bravely walked out of the Great Hall. The room was so quiet she could hear the beat of her heart, as well as the sound of feet right behind her.

The moment she stepped out of the hall she whirled around and predictably it was Malfoy who followed her. "You went too far," she said, her voice quivering with anger. "This started as a game and you took it too seriously—"

"It was _never_ a game, Granger," he retorted calmly.

Hermione pursed her lips, then took the blasted jewelry off her neck. The act surprised them both. "I guess you'd want your trinket back, huh? It did its job. It made a fool out of me. Perhaps it's time you build it a shrine."

"I gave it to you. It's yours."

Well _that _she wasn't expecting. "What's this?" she spat. "My day's wage?"

He flashed her a triumphant smile. "You could say that." Malfoy passed by her, and pushed something in her palm. "And _this_," he said low, "is your bonus." 

Hermione looked down and saw the velvet box he bought. She found that, inside, was a pair of tear-shaped ruby earrings and a ring.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked, not letting herself be perturbed. "Or rather, what's this supposed to do _to_ me?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Do whatever you want. It's yours." And he was gone.

_Throw it away. Throw it away! _her mind berated her, as she closed her palms over the jewelries.

Later that day, she found out she couldn't. 

**Author's Notes: **There! Oh, I can't tell you how happy I am that finally something popped into my head… but really, your motivations and reviews boosted my imagination (not to mention the threats to my life, hehe). Thank you, guys! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Well, I hope the revenge here was mean enough for our dear Draco to pull on his darling Hermione… I got advices that I MUST have him do something nasty to her, and I hope this lived up to your standards :) :) :) And isn't this just the longest ever? I got carried away, I know :)


	6. Chapter Six

Divine Humiliation 

_In this season of great endings also comes the season of great beginnings, for even if we are at the end of a journey we are at the foot of yet another great adventure…_

_Right,_ thought Draco as he placed a strong, bold line in the middle of the words he'd just written. _As if I'm going to say _that _in public. _

He was in the middle of creating his valedictory speech. Well… maybe _middle _was being a tad optimistic, because he was actually stuck at writing a catchy introduction. And being too busy with writing a grand start came the grand price of not advancing to _anything_ grand beyond that.

He brought the tip of his quill into his mouth, biting it as he thought. Draco was in a common room that was devoid of any soul. Not that Slytherins had souls, but that was beside the point. He was working in the wee hours of the morning, making good use of the time his housemates were drooling on their beds while torturing some poor animal in their dreams. Draco yawned, his body reminding him that he wasn't used to being awake at such ungodly hours. Of course, he could've chosen to work in his bedroom but he felt that a short walk towards the dungeons could help him concentrate. Now though, it proved to be a useless exercise to do. Not that exercises were useful, but, again, beside the point. He focused on the fire crackling in front of him, and rummaged his brain for something interesting to keep him awake and working. Unfortunately, nothing of the sort was coming to mind.

The minutes were like invisible Quidditch players, each zooming past him with fever-inducing speed. Before he knew it, he'd been working on the damned speech for an hour already, and yet he still had to produce something with quality, something fitting to sprout off a Malfoy's mouth. Sighing irritably, he wrote anything that dared enter his brain.

_As the world turns, and day becomes night--_

What was he doing, writing bloody fanfic?! _Now is not the time! Stupid muse. Where were you when I was stuck in chapter five, huh? _

_Webster the Weird Wizard defined graduation as--_

… something that would guarantee the loss of interest of the audience for it's more likely that he'd put them to sleep faster than the most powerful sleeping potions could if he continued with this train and _length_ of thought. _Damn it, think! And with the proper use of conjunctions, please._

_I, Draco Malfoy, modestly stand upon you today to humbly rub in your faces that I am the most intelligent wizard of our times. (Insert pointing and laughing maniacally here.)_

No line there, for truth was beauty, beauty truth, wasn't it? Too bad he couldn't use this as a catchy attention grabbing line, no matter how catchy or attention grabbing it could be.

The inevitable had happened. _He was suffering from writer's block!_ And it couldn't have happened in a less important time! _Breathe. Think of all my favorite things. Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes… snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes… ah, hell. Not working!_

Defeated, he pursed his lips and searched for something to distract him from working on the bloody speech.

_I bet, _he thought, slapping his quill on the table and leaning lazily on his chair, _that Granger's composed herself a boring and wordy speech._ He grinned. _Therefore, it falls upon _my_ shoulders to keep everything light and interesting. I also have to draw (ergo, steal) the attention away from her and bring it all to me. _Well, that certainly made the situation easier. Not that he was cocky, but who would want to focus on a Muggleborn when they could feast on a Malfoy? Finding some inspiration in this, he began to scribble:

_Inside every individual is the potential to become the best he could be. That potential remains only an idea, a force, which is inactive and useless unless great work is done in order to stimulate it into motion. All of us (ladies and gentlemen) have that potential, and having stayed seven years in this school proved that we have indeed activated that force. What we have is not potential anymore. What we now have is skill, talent, honed to perfection and ready for execution._

_Yes_! Something worth saying in public! His quill poised to write yet another excellent paragraph in his brilliant composition.

_With this said, it is only (inevitable) proper to say that (all of us) we… … … … … …_

… … … …

… … …

… …

…

"Damn it!" he swore, slamming his hand on the table. Why was it so bloody difficult to compose a bloody valedictory speech? What was so bloody hard on writing a bloody piece that would show off his ingenuity and greatness and all-around excellence? He was a Malfoy. Showing off was supposed to be his greatest talent. So what the bloody bleeding hell was wrong with him?

Inspiration. Must have some bloody inspiration… _yes, brain. Time to think. _

A delightful idea dawned on him (_thank you brain!)_. His brows drew together as he recaptured the events that happened yesterday… an evil, predatory smile appeared on his face, and Draco did his version of an evil, predatory cackle. Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at it, his impression coming off as more of a wheeze than a laugh. He tried again. Same result. Oh, well. Contrary to popular (ergo, his) belief, he _wasn't_ perfect.

_I wonder…_ he thought as he nibbled on his quill again. _Did she keep them? Or did she throw them away?_ Not that he particularly cared if Granger did, but it'd be pretty stupid of her to throw jewelry away. Sure, the necklace was something he stole from his mother, but the earrings and ring weren't exactly a bargain. They probably cost more than the worth of Potter's scar, if his head was sawed off (preferably when he was still alive) and his skin harvested and sold to an auction. Hmm, pretty mental picture. He shook his head, dismissing the pretty thought. Draco grabbed his quill and wrote: 

_I will NOT search through her garbage to see if the jewelries are there. I will NOT ask her what she did with them._

_But maybe I'll perform a nifty spell to see where she placed them…_

A grin curled his mouth as he thought of the perfect spell to execute. Difficult it might be, it was still effective, and of course hecould do it. He wouldn't exactly be doing a valedictory speech if he wasn't smart now, would he? But truth be told, he wasn't _exactly_ doing a valedictory address at this moment either…

"What _are_ you doing?"

He looked up to see Pansy awake and dressed. Assuming a casual look he turned his attention back to his task. "My speech," he answered.

"For graduation?"

"No, my funeral."

Pansy frowned, her pug-nose more pronounced than ever. "I swear, these days you've become nastier and crueler. Even to me."

"You mean _especially _to you?" He raised his brows. "Pansy dear, I've yet to remember an incident when I _wasn't _nasty or cruel to you."

"My point exactly." She rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "Merlin forbid, even _Weasley's _company is more attractive than yours."

_That _certainly stung. He squinted as he bit out, "I resent that. _Nothing_ Weasley owns is more attractive than mine! Why, I bet even my dandruff looks better than his. Not," he added hastily, "that I have dandruff." Pause, shudder, vomit at the ugly mental picture.

"Whatever." Pansy sat beside him and looked around. "Hey, what's that?"

Immediately, he placed an arm over his parchment, covering it just in case she was feasting on the words he wrote. She wasn't. Draco followed her eyes and they rested on a small box with a green bow on top. "No idea," he said, relaxing a bit.

She stood and approached it. "For Pansy Parkinson," she read off a small rectangular note. She flipped it open. "May I find you wearing my gift today. Sincerely, your S.A." Pansy's face glowed, and to Draco she seemed almost pretty as a smile warmed her face. She placed the note over her heart, sighing dreamily.

"S.A.?" he asked, his curiosity peaked. "Satan's Assistant?"

"Secret Admirer," she retorted, lifting the lid off the box. Pansy reached for what's inside, and her hands brought out a black cloth. "It's…" she trailed off. "It's a robe." She inspected the label. "From _GAP_." Her smile widened, and she quickly shrugged her own robe off and wore the gift on. She sighed. "I think it's perfect."

"I think it's cheap, like something _Weasel _would buy," Draco told her disgustedly, but he got to admit the robe fitted her fine. "_GAP? _Please. I thought your taste went a bit higher than that?"

"Well it's a gift," Pansy said. A dreamy, far-off smile lit her face again. "From my S.A. And it's a _robe_. I'm not complaining."

"It's good one of us aren't," drawled a third voice, "because I _am_."

Draco looked at the shadowy part of the room and saw Blaise emerge from it. He rolled his eyes. _Honestly, I came here to find some peace and quiet and all I was able to do is one measly paragraph and then these people come barging in! Why in Merlin's name are they up so early, anyway? _He folded his parchment, knowing that he couldn't do any more of it. He stuffed it inside his pocket.

"What's wrong?" Pansy asked, frowning as she stared at the other Slytherin. "You look like your parents forbade you to do something destructive."

Blaise sniffed. Her eyes were swollen, and it was apparent she'd spent hours bawling them out. "McGonagall, that's what," she answered, brandishing a small note in her hands. "She might as well kill me!"

He grabbed the note from her. It read:

_Ms. Zabini,_

_This is to inform you that I have received complaints from Mr. Potter of you stalking him. According to Paragraph Thirty, Section Two of the Hogwarts Code of Student Ethics and Proper Conduct, no student is allowed to stalk another student regardless of reason. Therefore, it is within my authority, as his Head of House, to order you to stay away from Mr. Potter, and outside of your dance practices you are not to approach or talk to him, or are you to give him any gifts._

_Professor Minerva McGonagall._

_P.S. (from Mr. Potter) LEAVE ME ALONE YOU VILE WOMAN!_

Draco met Pansy's eyes and they laughed unabashedly.

Blaise produced a sound much like a snake would when wounded. "Shut up! This isn't funny!" she snapped.

"Come on, Blaise," Draco drawled, rolling the note and throwing it at her, "you know you went overboard with mauling your beloved Potter with gifts."

"It's not like you have great taste in choosing them, either," Pansy added. "Though they did provide us with unceasing entertainment."

Blaise glared at her. "For your information, those were the gifts _my mother_ gave _my father_ when she was trying to seduce him!"

"So… it's natural for your family to let the woman declare her love for the man?" asked Pansy, looking interested.

"Yes!" said Blaise. "Oh, what am I going to do? How am I to declare my undying love for Harry if I'm not allowed to _ever _get near him or even give him gifts?"

"One word: _Imperius_," Pansy told her, eyes gleaming evilly.

"I'm not _that _desperate, thank you."

"There's always dance practice," Draco pointed out. "Haven't you realized that McGonagall didn't do anything about you and Potter being partners?"

She looked at him, renewed hope filling her face. "That's it! I could—"

"Of course," said Pansy as she lifted her arms to inspect her robe, "you can't do anything audacious because Flitwick is there."

"Nonsense," said Draco with a dismissive wave. "He won't notice. Aren't you placed in the middle?"

"Actually, at the back." A wicked grin erupted on Blaise's face, mirroring the wicked thoughts on Draco's mind perfectly. "We're _at the back_…" And she did her impression of an evil, predatory cackle that was, in his opinion, quite good and quite scary. Some small part of him actually felt sorry for Potter… imagine what nasty, _vile _things Blaise had planned for the git!

"As much as I love to stay and solve all your problems, I best be off." And with that, he left.

Draco headed towards the Great Hall. As it was still early, only some students were up and about. When he opened the doors he found the tables to be empty, except for a couple of Hufflepuffs, a few Ravenclaws… and surprise, surprise, a lonely Gryffindor.

"Good morning, Granger!" he said cheerily, depositing himself beside her at the Gryffindor table.

She faced him, her quill poised on her paper and her lovely eyes flashing sparks at him. "What the hell—oh, never mind." Granger returned to her task, looking determined to disregard his presence, but it delighted him to see that her lips were pursed and she was writing too heavily she might as well be engraving.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to get a good look at her work.

"None of your business," came her curt reply.

"Not a morning person, are you?" Draco told her. She sighed and stayed silent.

Not wanting her to ignore him, he swiftly swiped the paper from beneath her hands. "Hey! What—Malfoy, give that back!"

"Not until you tell me what you're doing."

He dangled the paper in front of her, then deftly moved it back when she attempted to reach for it. "You're hopeless, you know that? Hopelessly annoying, irritating—"

"I haven't realized it's time for your litany of adjectives for me," he said, lifting the paper higher to make sure she couldn't get it from him. "Now let's see… 'In this season of great endings also comes the season of great beginnings, for even if we are at the end of a journey we are at the foot of yet another great—'"

Granger sighed loudly and said, "If you must know, that's my valedictory address." She slammed her quill on the table. "Hand it back before anyone like _you_ gets hurt."

A sense of déjà vu entered Draco as he read the line again. "'In this season of great endings also comes the season of great beginnings…' I know this line," he murmured. Then it clicked. With his other hand he took out his parchment. "Aha!" he said triumphantly as he compared one with the other. "You copied my sentence!"

Her mouth dropped open. "What—I did _not!_" she said indignantly.

"Then how do you explain this, huh?"

With a baleful look at him she took both parchments and compared one with the other. "Oh," she said, after several moments of silence.

"'Oh'? That's all you could say? 'Oh'? How about 'Oh I'm so ashamed I stole Draco's brilliant speech! Oh! I'm a fraud! Oh! I'm—'"

Granger lowered the parchments and glowered at him. "It's coincidence you blond freak. Besides, this line in the middle tells me you weren't intending on using it anyway."

"Coincidence? I think not. Besides," Draco took his parchment from her and stood, "I'm intending on using it _now_, so better look for another crappy sentence to begin your crappy speech." He headed towards the Slytherin table.

"Don't worry," floated her voice. "I'm intending to search through _my garbage_ for one, but I could always ask you. Or maybe I'd just do a nifty spell…"

That stopped him on his tracks. Draco lifted the paper and then cursed, for he'd forgotten that he wrote the part about his quest to discover if she threw away the jewelries or not… and when she read his sentence it was likely that she read about them as well. _Stupid, snoopy Gryffindor! _Resisting the urge to look at her, he sat on his usual place at the table and angrily ordered an elf to get him his food.

So much for his bloody quest.

"Hermione!" He heard someone say. Looking up he saw the pathetic duo of Potter and Weasley coming to claim their seats on either side of her.

"Hey, Harry, Ron!" greeted Granger in a bright tone.

Draco's brows furrowed as he noticed that the two cast furtive glances around them before sitting. Potter he could understand, what with the whole Blaise-thing going on. But _Weasley_? _Hmm. Interesting. Must remember. Could be used for blackmailing the git in the future. Draco you conniving genius you. _

Just when his food was delivered, so came the flood of students rushing to their tables to get their breakfasts. Loud chatters made Draco wince, reminding him again that he hadn't enough sleep that night. Unfortunately, the loud chatters grew in intensity, until he found out that the sources of these mundane talks were Pansy and Blaise, and that they were walking hurriedly to sit by him. _Wonderful. What a way to—oh, hang on. Did _they_ just cast furtive glances as well? _

They did. Blaise actually blanched when she spotted Potter, and Pansy, well… she walked regally, proudly displaying that she was wearing her S.A.'s gift to her. And when they sat, Blaise was quiet, and Pansy's eyes were shining.

"We better hurry," Pansy said, grabbing a piece of toast from the food that emerged on their table, "I heard Flitwick wanted to start practice earlier today."

Draco shrugged and ate at his own pace, thinking that this was definitely going to take a while.

Five minutes later and the two women were dragging him towards the Charms classroom.

"I haven't eaten anything yet!" he murmured darkly. "You two thick bitc—"

"Ah, Miss Zabini, Parkinson, Mister Malfoy!" greeted Flitwick, putting a lid to his pet name for the two Slytherins. "Good morning! On time, I say. Stand on your positions, please, and wait for your partners. Do you know where they are?"

"They're _eating_," Draco emphasized, sending deadly looks at Blaise and Pansy. "Which is what _I _should also be doing this very moment."

"Shut your trap," Pansy snapped. But her tone was distracted, as she was staring at the door.

"What did you just—"

"Mister Potter! Mister Weasley, Longbottom, Finnigan, Thomas, do come in please. Miss Bones, Patil… Miss Granger! Towards your partners, immediately." Flitwick looked very much the happy camper as he welcomed the students that stepped in the room.

"Waiting for me, I see."

Draco smirked at Granger as she approached. "Give me one good reason why I should be."

She pretended to think. "Well, there _is_ that _something_ you're just _dying _to know."

He could practically see the italics in what she said. "Isn't that right?" He raised his brow. "Why don't you just tell me?"

"Why should I? You haven't asked. Not that you're going to." She smiled brilliantly at him. "Are you?"

There. Challenge issued. "You do realize that if this whole thing happened yesterday, all I have to do is _order _you and words will just come from your mouth."

Her eyes darkened as he reminded her of the stunt he pulled. _Good. At least you haven't the upper hand in this match. _"But this _isn't _yesterday," Granger told him. "And I do believe it's _my _turn."   
At that moment, a curious scent enveloped him, reminding him of jasmines in springtime. He ignored that and said, "And how, pray tell, might—"

"Shh!"

Draco turned and saw Weasley frantically waving his hands and pointing at Flitwick.

"What?" asked Granger.

Too late. "Mister Malfoy, Miss Granger! I said assume positions… ten points from each of you!"

"_What?_" he demanded.

"Sir—"

"That'll be _twenty_ points apiece," Flitwick threatened, "if I don't see your hands on each other."

Immediately, Granger sprang to his arms, and he placed his hands where they belonged. Which felt _right_.

Flitwick looked pleased. "I already told you before that I _would_ be firmer this time. This is not something to be taken lightly! Need I remind you that the ball is twelve days from now, which gives us only _eight _days to perfect this dance!"

Draco rolled his eyes. _Someone's _clearly woken up as the Drama Queen this morning. But the sight of the professor glowering at them brought a new feeling upon him. He felt the slightest amount of _fear._

Which was ridiculous, because he _didn't _fear anyone or anything.

The professor clapped his hands and their song played. "Dance! Dance like there's no tomorrow! Dance dance _dance_!"

And they did. Cross-step-cross, side-side-side, turn-bend-turn-dip, cross-step-cross, side-side-side, step-step-step, curl-dip-change hands-curl-bend-change hands—

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mister Potter!" Flitwick howled.

Draco felt Granger's sharp intake of breath, and couldn't help but smirk.

"But sir!" wailed pathetic Potter, "Zabini was—"

"Six points!"

"She was—"

"Seven points!"

"She _touched _me!"

"And _I'll_ touch you if you don't get dancing this moment!"

That probably scared Potter enough to hold a delightfully triumphant Blaise in his arms.

"_Don't_—" Draco heard Pansy snarl, "—crumple this robe! This is a _gift_ you pathetic—"

"Oh a gift, eh? From someone insane enough to like a pug—"

"What did you _say_?"

"And do you like this robe? Do you?"

"_Of course_! Which is why I don't want _you_—"

"Ten points from Slytherin!"

"Ha! Serves you right, _Pug_kinson—"

"Ten points from Gryffindor!"

"This is insane," whispered Granger, her hands clutching his robe so tightly he knew they were ruined for good. "_Flitwick's _insane! He can't keep doing this!"

"Power-tripper," said Draco with deep and true conviction. Despair engulfed him as he realized, "He's already taken _twenty _points from us!"

Flitwick clapped his hands and the music stopped. "We'll start again. From the top! And the next one I catch clowning around—" Draco winced at this, "—will get detention!"

And for the next three hours they all danced diligently, exerting effort not to get on the professor's extremely volatile side.

At the end of practice Flitwick seemed to be back to his sweet, good-natured self. "One-hundred points to all houses!" he announced. "You see? All you need is positive _and _negative reinforcements to keep you working at your best. Dance practice tomorrow, same time. Dismissed!"

_One hundred points! _Happiness blossomed in Draco's heart, making him think of gardens with hyacinths and carnations in full bloom. Fluffy pink bunnies hopped around, and the sun shone so brightly he felt—

Wait the bloody minute.

Granger stepped away from him, and with his arms empty he felt as though all the happiness had been sucked right out of him. She then said, "How are you _feeling_?" with no apparent intention of waiting for an answer because at that moment she walked away.

Which left him feeling sad and lonely and _stupid_ for feeling sad and lonely.

At that moment, he heard a very distinct sob from his right. He turned and saw Pansy sitting on one side, trying to stop herself from crying. The need to comfort her was so overwhelming he couldn't do anything but adhere it. "My friend," he said softly, which was bizarre because he _never _said anything softly, and don't even get him started with the word 'friend', "don't cry."

And when Pansy lifted her tear-stained eyes at him, something tugged at his heart and pricked his eyes and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug her.

Which was _when_ he realized that something was wrong with him.

Granger.

He stormed out of the classroom, knowing that if he had a bloody spell cast on him _again_ then he'd pin it on no one else but _her_.

And no, his pulse wasn't racing or were his thoughts occupied by her, thank you very much. He blamed his raging pulse on the fact that he was running and his busy thoughts with the fact that he was imagining her messy end at his hands.

Draco was too occupied with these that he actually bumped into Weasley who was carrying a glass of water.

"Malfoy! Watch it!"

"I'm sorry Ron!" he apologized quickly. A first for him, because he never apologized. But then, this was a Weasley, so it didn't count. "And I have a name. It's Draco!" And he left, leaving behind a mortified Weasley and his own mortified wits and pride as well.

He spotted Granger's hair, and he was about to yank it when he heard a riot to his left. Cursing his heart and the fact that he was using it, he made a swift turn and saw a couple of Slytherin third years bullying a Hufflepuff first year.

"Hahahaha! Look, ickle Johnny's going to cry!"

"Waaahhh! Go on Johnny, cry! Waaahhh!"

Pity assaulted him; he knew the first year was helpless against the older ones and for Merlin's sake he had to do something! He _had _to help! Thus, Draco's inner hero sprung into action. He bravely stood in front of the crying Hufflepuff and ordered, "Stop it! Stop hurting him!"

His sudden intrusion shocked his housemates enough to stop throwing stones at the child. "It's Malfoy," one said.

"Yes, it is! And I'm sick of this – us Slytherins shouldn't do this to other houses! They aren't inferior to us; no one is! We're all on equal footing, and what you're doing is just _wrong_!"

And as soon as these words were out, he realized that he not only had the third years as his audience but also a whole lot of other students passing by. Drawing strength on this, his stupid pathetic (_where's Granger and her stupid pathetic litany when you need her?)_ heart said:

"Listen to me, all of you. By now we should've realized that nothing comes from the act of hurting other people. Yes, it does give temporary happiness but at what cost? At the emotional scarring of other people? I say to you, it isn't worth it! Nothing is! As wizards and witches, one of the powers we should be exhibiting is the power to make friends with each other. _Why don't we all just get along? _Is that so hard to do?"

And then he felt something wet against his cheek and _oh my God I am crying I'm crying oh my God someone KILL ME NOW!_

Like in the movies, it started with a single clap. The Hufflepuff first year looking at him with worshipping eyes began clapping, and another soon followed, and _Oh my God _everybody within hearing range was clapping, including Professor Dumbledore with his damned twinkling eyes and Professor Sprout who was wiping tears from her eyes and the whole bloody Hufflepuff house who had happy eyes for they found themselves a protector in the persona of one Draco Malfoy.

His heart swelled with happiness while his pride shrank in terror. Normally he would bask in the attention but this time it was for an entirely different reason. They were clapping because Draco just showed them he wasn't just a handsome face, he had _heart!_

And Malfoys didn't have heart, damn it! This whole bloody-hero thing was just _not _their style!

With head held high, he strode out and found a room to hang himself in.

Even when the door was shut he could still _hear _them clapping.

Someone knocked. His instincts told him to ignore it, but a part of him – his damned heart – leapt at the thought that it might be _her._

It was.

"My God Malfoy," Granger said, eyes shining like twin beacons of—_oh shut it! _"What big _heart_ you have."

He pulled her inside. Anger raged in him, pouring like lava and burning like acid. Never mind that his skin actually _tingled _at their contact and with her cheeks pink against her skin she looked like an ange—_oh holy mother fuc— _"You silly little bint!" he snarled. "Look what you made me do in there!"

"You mean the crying part? Personally I thought it was brilliant."

"Not just that – you turned me into a bloody… bloody…"

"Hero?" Granger contributed. "Knight in shining armor? Protector of the innocent? _Good person?"_

"Yes! You turned me into all of those! You silly little—"

"Call me a bint again and I'll hex you to oblivion," she threatened, eyes flashing like lightning.

_I should really stop with all these similes! _ "And you call _me _terrible? Despicable? _Horrible_? Hands down, _you _deserve all those names for what you did to me today."

"Why? Do you _feel _humiliated because you just showed how _soft _you are? That you actually _care _and that you want us all to become _friends? _Oh, 'why don't we all just get along' indeed—"

"Shut up."

"You had that in you all along you know, I just brought it out with a nifty spell. And my, my, Malfoy… what a softy—"

"Shut up!"

"You can't make me this time, and even if you—"

Thankfully, she did shut up.

Because he had planted his lips on top of hers and was now _kissing_ her rather fervently.

**Author's Notes: **squeals And I'm baaaccckkk! Oh, I can't even begin to tell you how busy I was… looking for a company brave enough to hire me is NOT something easy to do. Exams, interviews… I'm inclined to think I'm back at college! Oh well… ;)

Anyways, Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter. To be honest I was a bit hesitant to post that because I was thinking it wasn't humiliating enough but… well, your reviews proved me wrong, and for that I'm grateful. Thanks! Special props goes to **Black-Cat-Goddess **who was my 200th reviewer… thank you, thank you, thank you!

And, um, yes, I did notice that I left you with an evil cliffhanger… don't kill me! Please? ;)


	7. Chapter Seven

**Divine Humiliation**

Someday, she would remember this moment, retch, and pretend it never happened.

Or, perhaps, she didn't even _have_ to remember this moment, for she could just trick Harry or Ron into performing a Memory Charm on her. That way, the spell would _surely_ go horribly wrong and she would forget everything about her or the major detail that her name was _Hermione Granger_ and she did, in fact, like to be kissed by one _Draco _sodding_ Malfoy_.

It wasn't like she hadn't been kissed before. Of course she had had her share of kisses, pecks, and all things done with two mouths, but none was ever this… _good._ Okay, so good was a relatively tame word to describe how this kiss was going because in truth it was great and amazing and awesome and very, very addicting.

But to be safe, when asked about it she would say it was just plain good. And _of course_, in the future she'd definitely be having better kisses than this one. _Better than good, actually_, _which is just redundant because better _is _better than good. _And she would enjoy that kiss were it to come, because she knew – she just _knew_ – it _wouldn't_ be coming from one Draco Malfoy, sod extraordinaire.

And wasn't it just brilliant of her that she could still _rationalize_ while caught smack in the middle of the greatest and most amazing and most awesome kiss of her life?

With this rationalization came the realization that she was indeed _kissing _one sodding Draco Malfoy. And she likedit! She was _still_ liking it, she thought, as his lips did an unimaginable number on her tongue and _ooohhh…_

She gripped at his arms tightly, knowing that if she didn't then she might fall into that terrible cliché of her actually falling over, inevitably resulting to her having a more… intimate contact with him. But Malfoy clearly had other plans. He snaked his hands around her waist, pulling her closer to him that inevitably resulted to a more… intimate contact between them.

Not that she minded. Much.

_This _has_ to stop. NOW, if you please!_

Right. Yes! Of course it had to stop. Stopping. Really. Any moment now. Stopping. Jerking to a halt. Halting. Going on recess. Pausing. Putting everything on hiatus. Stopping. Pulling a breather. Right. Yes.

_Got… to… stop… lip… teeth… hair… _

__

_Ooohhh… _

__

_Oh for the love of Merlin someone stop me from making that noise! The git might think I actually like what he's doing and ohholymerlin ooohhh…_

Finally, her brain functioned well enough to command her hands to free their hold on his hair and she dropped them to his chest and pushed him away.

He took two steps back, his eyes opening in surprise and holding hers captive in their gaze. He looked flushed and his lips were – actually, no, she wasn't looking at his lips – she wasn't, honest! – because if she did she'd remember how they felt against her mouth and _oh my God I really need that Memory Charm. Right now. _

_Where the hell are Harry and Ron when you need them?_

She sucked in a breath through her mouth, and tore her eyes away from him. Hermione focused on something, anything else so she couldn't look at him, but it was difficult, for the room was small and cramped and even if she did look at something else she would still see him. See his face, see his expression filled with embarrassment and horror that she knew were only mirroring hers.

She also knew that if she _did_ see those emotions over _his_ face then that would've been very painful to her indeed. Hermione couldn't understand why it would, though. She just knew it would be.

"So," he said. Then said nothing more.

Hermione snuck a glance at him. Malfoy was doing his best not to look at her as well. A wasted effort, because at that moment their eyes met and her cheeks heated and his face paled.

"So," he repeated.

"So," she echoed weakly.

_This _was probably the most intelligent conversation she'd had in her entire life. Ever.

"It—that—the spell," Malfoy said low. "That—that was, I mean, your spell—"

"Um y—yes." Of course she knew it was because of the spell she cast on him! What she didn't know – and what she wished she knew beforehand – was that _it_ was going to be the reason why they were going to be intimately acquainted through the mouth for a few seconds.

Okay, several.

All right, _many_! Many seconds. But still. It wasn't like the kiss went on for a minute.

Or – minutes.

_So not the point here!_

"It's over, isn't it? The spell, I mean."

Hermione nodded. "It is."

And apparently, this awkward conversation clearly _wasn't_ because they were still standing there, barely a few meters apart, with no knowledge of what to say or how to say what or even how to end everything.

It was humiliation in its own right.

"You did it again, you know."

Too immersed in her own thoughts, she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. "I've absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

He grinned. "Come now, Granger. Don't play coy with me. Haven't you realize that this is the _second_ time you've performed a spell to… ahem, _kiss _me? Not that I mind. I'm actually flattered that you'd go to great lengths just to—"

"And if you don't shut up," she began, curling her hands to fists, "so help me this will also be the second time that I'd be _slapping_ you, you cocky bastard." Trust _him _to come up with a seriously twisted explanation for what happened between them! But then, this _was_ Draco Malfoy here. Totally expected of him!

He rubbed his palms together, a Cheshire smile on his face. "Kinky, aren't we? My, do I love that in a girl."

She groaned. "Contrary to your demented belief, I didn't cast my spell on you so that I could kiss you, you arrogant pig. Too many reasons why I shouldn't, aside from the very obvious gross factor." Hermione planted her hands on her hips. "Besides, _you're_ the one who kissed _me_, remember?"

He shrugged. "I kiss you, you kiss me, what's the difference? Always ends the same way, regardless of how – or _who_ – started it."

She glared at him. "Sod off, Malfoy. I'm leaving."

He pouted. "What, no kiss goodbye?" To prove his point, he stepped closer to her and spread his arms apart.

Hermione involuntarily took a step back. Her palm positively _itched_ to get intimately acquainted with his cheek again. "Stop it!What happened here was a mistake that, for your information, I didn't want – or did I ever _intend_ – to happen."

The positively smug look on Malfoy's face didn't abate a bit. "That wasn't the tune you were singing only moments ago. Not that I blame you or anything. I _do_ know that I'm hell of a good kisser."

She felt like she was going to spontaneously combust any minute. This man was just so… so haughty! But then, _Draco Malfoy _and _haughty_? Synonyms! "Sod off, you arrogantconceitedpompous prat! Don't you _ever_ breathe a word about this to anyone do you hear me? I swear to you Malfoy that I'd—"

"I don't know about you Granger but I really don't… how does that saying go? Ah yes. _Kiss and tell._"

"Un—believable," she retorted, deliberately emphasizing the first syllable. Hermione threw her hands in the air. "You're unbelievable! Are you implying that I do? That I _will_?"

Malfoy held up a hand. "I know, Granger, believe me I know," he said in a soothing voice. "I understand the fact that women _always _share their first kiss with their friends, and considering this _must _be the _only _experience you've ever had—"

The fact that she knew the Unforgivable Curses warranted a life sentence in Azkaban was the only thing that prevented her from pulling one on him. "Shut up! Sod off! I'm leaving!" Hermione placed her hand on the knob, but she couldn't resist a final jab – after all, he did _insult_ her. "And for your information, that kiss positively _sucked._ Worst on my list. In—fe—rior." And she left the room, the horrified expression on Malfoy's face something she would cherish for the rest of her life.

It was a miracle she was able to keep herself cool and collected as she walked down the halls leading to the Head Girl room. Then she rerouted, and walked towards the Gryffindor Common Room instead. She wouldn't want to risk another encounter with that… that _thing._ When she said the password to the Fat Lady she opened to reveal an almost empty space, suiting Hermione's temper just fine. She was still fuming, and only Merlin could help the poor, innocent soul that would receive her rather hideous display of anger!

Three seconds after she deposited herself on the sofa, Hermione wished someone would come and distract her. Being alone in a big, silent room made her nostalgic and she was forced to do nothing else but reflect. Reminisce. Remember.

Guess what she was doing right this very moment. Just _guess_.

"Ahhh!!!" The scream that emerged from her was fortunately muffled by the pillow that covered her face. _This is insane! It's not like something serious happened between us! So that wretched thing kissed me. Big deal! _

Yes, it _was_ a big deal. Definitely. Hugest of huge deals.

_No, it wasn't!_

Yes it was.

_No it wasn't!_

Yes it was.

_No it was—oh, damn it, now I'm arguing with myself. Like _that _ever went well. _

She removed the pillow from her face, giving in to the twisted need of her body to breathe. Hermione contemplated on beating herself unconscious with it, but just as she was debating whether or not she would proceed the door opened and in stepped Harry.

"Hermione!" he said cheerily. He cheerily looked around. "Have you seen Ron?"

Pulling on a straight face she said, "Nope. Didn't. Haven't."

His cheery look disappeared. "I was hoping—oh, never mind. I thought after that thing with Snape he would've stopped by here so we could have lunch together."

"That thing with Snape? What thing with Snape? Does Ron have a 'thing' with Snape?" she asked in rapid succession. Without breathing.

Harry looked at her oddly. "I'll pretend you never said that. I thought Ron told you, but I guess he didn't… anyway, two days ago Snape paired him up with Parkinson for an assignment of some sort."

That further befuddled her already fuddled brain. "Assignment? Why would Ron have an assignment? Aren't we done with having assignments?"

Again with the odd look. "Are you okay? You look… frazzled."

She waved his concern away. "I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm good."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Absolutely! Positively! I'm! All! Right!"

Harry shrugged. "If you say so. Anyway, I think this assignment was for the Graduation Ball. Since Ron and Parkinson both got good grades in Potions, Snape gave them a last-minute project or something. Ron won't elaborate on it when I asked him. He said it's a surprise."

"I hate surprises. Really. Hate them." Especially when it involved lots of kissing and moans. And that thing Malfoy did with his hands and—

Oh, wait. She actually _liked_ those.

Which made her want to hit herself.

That was _it_. She'd gone completely wacko. Certifiably insane. Undoubtedly loony.

"Um, Hermione?" fleeted Harry's voice. "Why are you beating yourself silly with that pillow?"

_Because I want to forget that I'm Hermione Granger and the fact that I do liked to be kissed by one Draco sodding Malfoy._

Not that she could say that aloud or anything, unless she wanted to risk being on the receiving end of Harry's INFAMOUS CAPSLOCK-Y RAGE (that was only rivaled in intensity by Ron's Apoplectic Rage, as far as she knew). Hermione could understand what Harry would feel if he found out that his best friend and his worst enemy sappily shared saliva. After all, it wasn't _that_ hard to imagine if that happened to her, if _she _was the one who discovered that Ron or Harry had kissed Malfoy.

…

She'll pretend she never had that thought.

_THAT IS IT. I'm not going to think about this anymore. I'm going to forget something happened. No more thinking of Malfoy's tongue, hands, lips…_

_No. More. Of. This. Malfoy. Crap!_

"Let's go have lunch, I'm starving." And before her resolve wavered, she pulled Harry into coming with her. 

They almost collided with Ron on their way to the Great Hall.

"Hey!" Harry said, his eerie cheeriness returning. "Where've you been? I was looking for you."

Hermione saw Ron try to surreptitiously hide a humongous box in the folds of his robes. "What's that you got there?" she asked, before he could answer Harry's question.

"Err…" His ears turned bright red. "N—Nothing."

Harry was also eyeing the box with interest. "Nothing, huh? Then why are you furtively hiding it from us, like it's something secretive and mysterious and would only make us wonder more why you have it AND why you're trying to hide it in the first place?"

Ron fixed Harry a weird look before he gave up and brought it out. "It's nothing, just… it's just a gift. A gift to…to… to Ginny."

Hermione took the box from him and opened it. Inside was a plain black robe. "I didn't know Ginny has a penchant for Muggle robes," she mused.

Ron took it from her quickly. "Of course she does, I'm her brother, of course I know she has a penchant for Muggle robes! _Of course!_" he said with too much unnecessary vehemence. He paused, cleared his throat and said, "I'm going to place this inside now. Wait for me."

"Of course," answered Hermione with a wicked grin.

After Ron left, Harry turned to her. "Do you buy his pathetically contrived excuse?"

She shook her head. "Not a chance. Ronald Weasley is hiding something from us. The question is: what is it?"

"Or _who_."

"Good theory." Hermione looked at him. "By the way, Harry, what's with the sudden cheeriness on your part?"

"What's with the sudden suicidal tendency on _your _part?" he shot back.

"Let's eat!" Ron said, emerging from behind the portrait and fortunately blocking her from answering the question.

As they walked, Hermione winked at Harry, then turned to Ron. "You're looking positively radiant, Ron."

"Beaming," contributed Harry. "Like you know something we don't and are intent on keeping it that way."

Ron looked at them oddly. "I've no idea what you two are saying." And he walked ahead.

"Oh come on Ron_ald_!" said Hermione, catching up. "Spit it out already. Or else…" She looked at Harry.

"Or else I'll unleash my capslock-y rage on you!" he threatened.

Ron stopped and looked at them seriously. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes!" they answered in unison.

He sighed loudly. "All right. I'll tell you."

Harry and Hermione exchanged large smiles.

"IF we have cockroach clusters as our dessert," Ron finished triumphantly.

"Only one way to find out!" said Harry.

They entered the Great Hall. As it was past lunchtime already, only several students were left feasting inside. Hermione waved at Ginny, Parvarti, and Lavender as they exited, then sat on her usual spot. She was filling her plate with mashed potatoes and gravy when someone called her name. She looked up. Then wished she didn't.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" asked Ron. "Or should I say, _Dra-co_?"

"ZABINI!" shouted Harry, scooting away. "WHY ARE YOU HERE? DIDN'T YOU RECEIVE THE—"

"Pansy, could you please tell Harry that I received the note from McGonagall and am now in the process of _not _talking to him?" Zabini said sweetly.

"You heard her, Potter," said Parkinson sourly. Then she nodded at Ron. "Weasel."

"Pugkinson." He looked at Malfoy. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Ron asked again.

The Slytherin gave him a withering glance. "I've come for Granger."

Her sudden inclusion in the conversation shocked her. "What?" Hermione squawked. She snapped her mouth shut when she saw an evil glint appear on his eyes. _Cocky bastard. _"I mean—what?"

"Dumbledore wanted to talk to us, Granger," said Malfoy in a bored tone. "He said I should come fetch you."

"Headmaster's lapdog now aren't you Malfoy."

"Don't worry Potter, that position's permanently yours. I wouldn't dream of taking it." Malfoy smirked. "By the way, the Headmaster's shoes need a good licking. I thought you should know."

"You evil, evil fiend," said Harry bitterly.

"Pansy, could you please tell Harry that he's only being redundant?" said Zabini pleasantly.

Parkinson didn't answer, for she was deeply engrossed in a conversation with Ron.

"Pansy?" demanded Zabini. "Pansy!"

"Right! Um—what?"

"Why are you talking to Weasel?"

"Project!" interjected Ron immediately. Hermione noticed a red color spreading from his neck to his face. _Interesting._ "We—talk—project."

Malfoy unexpectedly grabbed Hermione's hand and forced her up. "Hey! Wha—I haven't eaten yet!"

"Cockroach! Clusters! Hermione!" Harry reminded her desperately.

Malfoy cast Harry a weird look. "You'll have time later. I have to be away from your inanely articulate friends." And with that, he began dragging her away.

"Weasel," Parkinson repeated.

"Pugkinson," Ron said.

"Weasley, could you please tell Harry that despite this minor setback I still like him and am still intent on having his babies?" Then Zabini smiled brilliantly at them and left.

"HA! You heard her, Har—say, why are you beating yourself silly with that plate?"

After stepping out of the Great Hall, Parkinson and Zabini went to the direction of the Slytherin Common Room while Hermione and Malfoy walked towards Dumbledore's office.

Correction: Malfoy _dragged_ her towards Dumbledore's office.

"You can let go now, I'll follow you," she told him, trying to snatch her arm away.

He maintained his vise-like grip on it.

"Hey! I know the way to the office, so let go of me! People are starting to stare!"

Still with the no-reply thing he had going on.

"Malfoy, could you please tell your idiot self that you have to let go of me as my arm is already bruising and I _will_ resort to kicking you in the privates if you don't?"

At that, he let go of her.

He may have said something oddly sounding like 'kinky' but she wasn't so sure.

"Thank you."

He didn't say anything.

His silent treatment was really getting on her nerves. It was just… _not _normal.

Thankfully, the unbearable silence between them ended for they already arrived at the phoenix guarding the pathway to the office. "Toffee crèmes," said Malfoy. The phoenix moved, revealing a staircase. He went ahead, and Hermione followed.

He didn't want to talk to her? Fine. She'd let him have it his way.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger. Good afternoon," greeted Dumbledore as he lowered the book he was reading.

Malfoy nodded at him, while Hermione said, "Good afternoon."

The Headmaster gestured at the two empty chairs before him. "Please, have a seat."

They did.

He moved a plate towards them. "Cockroach clusters?"

Hermione shook her head, while Malfoy said, "No, thanks."

"Very well." Dumbledore smiled at them. "I called you both today to personally congratulate you for achieving the highest honor Hogwarts could award its students. I'm sure you both know that it is the first time in our history to have _two_ students achieve the highest mark."

"Snape already told us," Malfoy said brusquely. He shifted in his seat. "Is this all? Are we done here?"

Hermione deftly shot him a glare. Which he ignored.

Dumbledore was still all-smiles. "Not quite, Mr. Malfoy. I still have another question to ask that, I have to be bold, was inspired by a beautiful scenario I witnessed earlier." He fixed Malfoy a very meaningful look. "Professor Sprout informed me that you two are in charge of delivering a speech for the student body. How is it coming along?"

"Mine's already finished," claimed Malfoy haughtily.

It took all of Hermione's restraints to not scream "LIAR!" at him. "I'm only polishing my own," she said.

Malfoy shot her a cocky look. Which she ignored.

If he could lie so calmly in front of the Headmaster, then so could she!

But Dumbledore didn't look pleased. In fact, he looked… disappointed. "You created your speeches individually?"

"Yes," answered Malfoy. "Aren't we supposed to?"

The Headmaster glanced at him. "I'm afraid not."

"What?" asked Hermione, confused. She and Malfoy exchanged looks. Then pretended they didn't.

"Tell me, what exactly did Professor Snape say about this speech?"

"That we're going to deliver it at the same time. But that doesn't necessarily mean we have to give the _same _speech, does it?"

Dumbledore's glance at her told Hermione it did.

"What?" said Malfoy. "There's no way—"

"I'm going to deliver—"

"A speech that—"

"Isn't all mine!"

Cue the exchanging of glares.

The Headmaster smiled. "Exactly like that," he said. "_Exactly_. You'll take turns delivering a speech that you _both_ made."

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. Was Dumbledore telling her that she and Malfoy _have to work together_ to create a speech? Bloody heck. As if she wasn't spending enough time with him already! "Forgive my boldness, Professor, but why _must_ we do this? Can't we stick to our own speeches, and deliver them at different times? One _before_ and one _after_ the ceremony?"

The serenity on the Headmaster's face was really starting to irritate Hermione. "That is a very valid suggestion, Miss Granger, but I'm afraid it is one I could not accept. The whole program for your Graduation has already been finalized, and invitations have also been sent out to your parents. We cannot change what already is to be expected." He leaned on his chair. "Also, this would show that, indeed, after the Final War was settled no bad blood exists between any of the houses in Hogwarts any longer, _especially_ between Slytherin and Gryffindor. All the professors agree that this is only a fitting tribute to House Unity."

Hermione pursed her lips and said nothing.

"You really have all these things _conveniently_ worked out, haven't you," Malfoy said, an accusing tone in his voice.

Damn Dumbledore and his twinkling eyes! "I'm afraid so." He stood. "Do not worry much, Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure that you and Miss Granger still have a lot of time left to accomplish this."

_Yes, a lot of time that I should be devoting to _avoiding _him, not working _with _him! _Malfoy was right. It was suspicious how these things just played out. How utterly _convenient_. "I'm sure we do," she said dryly.

"Now that this is settled, I have to get back to my reading. Good day to both of you." With that, the Headmaster turned away from them and picked up his book, the _Eight Thousand Highly Effective Habits of Highly Successful Wizards and Witches._

Hermione stood and left the room, Malfoy trailing behind her.

"Evil," she muttered under her breath. "Insane. Crazy. Old. Bat!"

"Crazy," Malfoy muttered beneath his breath. "Evil. Insane. Old. Bat!"

She paused and looked at him. "Did we just agree on something?"

He looked at her coolly. "No, we didn't." And he walked past her.

Just like that.

Hermione glared holes at his retreating back. _Egotistical – smarmy – annoying – _"Coward!"

Malfoy paused, turned, and moved towards her. "_What _did you call me?"

She lifted her chin stubbornly. "You heard me, or else you wouldn't be standing there asking me to repeat what I just said. Which you _completely_ heard."

His lips thinned as he bit out, "I am _not _a coward."

Hermione snorted. "Fine way of showing it. This also proves how _childish _and _immature _you are, preferring silence over talking it out!"

To her surprise, he actually laughed. "Oh, this is rich, coming from someone who just can't stand me not talking to her so she resorts to name-calling to catch my attention!"

Her jaw dropped. "Why—you—little… that was _not_—I wasn't—name-calling!"

He waved at her. "Any time you come up with a coherent sentence, let me know." And he walked away.

_Damn this infuriating son of a—_"Malfoy, come back here! I'm not done talking to you!" She couldn't care less if people started to stare at her as she followed him. Hermione was going to settle this score she had with him. Right. This. Moment.

"Oh what is it now, Granger?" he whined like the petulant child he truly was.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside an empty room. "I want you to know that I don't like to be ignored," Hermione began.

He chuckled. "So you _are _bothered by my not talking to you."

She shook her head. "That's not the point," she said. "If you haven't noticed, we _are_ required to work together for two different tasks – the dance _and_ now this bloody stupid speech. We can't work well if we can't settle whatever this is between us, and that is why I pulled you in here… so wipe that completely insulting smirk on your face, because what's on your mind is NOT what's on mine!"

"And how would you know what I'm thinking if it's NOT what you're thinking as well?"

Hermione lifted her hands. "Can we please stop with the bloody innuendos? Look, all I'm saying is that to make things easier for us we must call a truce. Just for this short while. What do you say?"

Malfoy made a big show of pretending to think. "Is NO good enough for you?"

She sighed. "Malfoy—"

"Don't be stupid, Granger," he said firmly, the humor on his face fading. "You know we can _never_ call a truce."

"The only reason I can see why we can't is because you're such an arrogant pig."

"See? That's _exactly _what I'm saying. You hate me, I hate you. There's just too much hate between us that there can never be room for anything else."

Hermione frowned. "That's not true. I—"

"You mean you don't hate me?"

She paused. "Hate is too strong a word, Malfoy," she said softly, playing safe.

"That's not an answer."

"What do you want me to say? That I do?"

He was quiet.

"That I… don't?"

He snorted. "Now _that's _unbelievable."

It _was _unbelievable. "Yes it is, isn't it," she admitted. "We've done a lot of things to each other that it's almost impossible to say all of it weren't because of hate."

Malfoy looked at her, his gray eyes turbulent. "I can think of one way you can prove you don't hate me."

Hermione returned his intent gaze. "What is it?"

He seized her hand in an act so swift it was almost surreal. "Go with me to the Graduation Ball."

"…wh-what?"

"Think about it," he said low. "It's only logical that we go together, isn't it, considering we're also partners for the dance. And it's proof that we don't hate each other's guts if we can tolerate each other for several hours without resorting to any violent means."

_What the… this was… without a doubt… unexpected… I don't… totally… DID HE JUST ASK ME TO THE GRADUATION BALL? _"Are you serious?" she muttered low.

His silence and his very serious demeanor were her answers.

_My God, he _is_ asking me to the Ball. _She stared at him, stared at his eyes that were deep, conflicted, and solemn. After a few seconds, Hermione took a deep breath, knowing that she was making a huge mistake but plunging headfirst to do it anyway. "All right."

Malfoy's lips widened to a smile that reached his eyes.

She was about to smile back when he leapt away from her and started howling at the walls. "You all heard that, didn't you?"

Hermione froze when she saw the wall on her left slide open to reveal Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and several other male Slytherins all looking at her with smirks on their faces and evil glints on their eyes. "My, my, I see you still haven't lost your touch, Draco," said Nott smugly.

Malfoy did a mock bow. "Well, I _did _tell you I could make the Head Girl say yes to me if I wanted to, didn't I?"

Her blood actually chilled as she stood there, trying to digest what the hell just happened. "Mal—foy?" she whispered weakly, her strength ebbing as she realized how severely she was duped. How well she was played.

But he didn't hear her. "Now I distinctly remember someone saying that if I won this little _bet_ of ours you'd all be—"

Hermione didn't bother to let him finish his sentence.

Because at that moment she slapped him hard on the face, then ran out of the room as fast as she could.

**Author's Notes: **Well, I see the last chapter caused quite a ruckus! Personally, out of all the chapters I've written that chapter was my absolute favorite, and I was really glad most of you thought it was great ;) Between you and me, I really love writing from Draco's POV. It's more fun that way ;)

Thanks, guys! You really know how to boost my ego! And thank you for restraining yourselves from killing me… hehe. I know it's difficult, especially since I left you with another cliffie. Bad, bad zarah! ;) **But remember, I heart you, you beautiful, beautiful reviewers!**

(By the way, this wasn't the original course that I've planned for this chapter. I've written a scene that I've deemed was too serious and didn't really fit to the light mood of the story, but if you want to read it, then leave your e-mail address on your review. I'll send it to you!)


	8. Chapter Eight

**Divine Humiliation**

'The world can take a student out of Slytherin but it can never take Slytherin out of a student', 'Slytherins make the best politicians' and 'Slytherins know best how to groom themselves, present Head of House excluded' were only some of the existing pillars of truth upon which the dungeons were built.

Of course, the most predominant of them was, 'Draco Malfoy is _not _an early riser'. Know this and one could and _would _survive in the harsh environment that was the Slytherin quarters. __

Which explained why his housemates were giving him weird glances as they noticed that not only was he in there minutes after the sun rose, he'd been doing it _twice _already. On _consecutive_ days.

Him doing it once was scary. Him doing it twice was enough to send some of the Slytherins on their knees and pray to whoever was listening that they would never, _ever, _do something evil and despicable and downright naughty again. Twice was enough to make them want to fall in love with a Gryffindor boy or girl, turn their backs on evil, and be _redeemed._

It was also a well-established fact that _all _Slytherins had a sixth sense that could detect whether or not Draco Malfoy was in a foul mood. It was instilled in them during their first year through a ritual that involved blood and gore and a laughing image of Malfoy.

Which was why they were doing their best to stay out of his way, choosing to stay in the shadows rather than show him their faces. Those who wanted to see another day would never dare cross the path of an angry Malfoy, unless they were on self-destruct mode or on a suicide mission or on drugs.

Nevertheless, Draco felt the need to release some of his frustrations so he let out a dignified shriek of "OUT!!!" at his housemates. Immediately, they dropped whatever they were doing, pooled towards the nearest exit, and slithered away.

Only two bravely remained in his midst. Draco suspected this was because of their repeated exposure to Gryffindor blood.

_Stupid Gryffindors and their contagious, dirty bloo—_

"And a pleasant morning to you too," drawled Blaise, as she closed the book she was reading.

Draco sent her a scathing glare. "Shut up."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "_Someone's _clearly gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Gee. Wonder why."

"I'm warning you—"

"Fine, fine." She mimicked the action of zipping her mouth.

Draco turned on the more silent one of the duo, an idea formulating in his mind and driving a small portion of his anger away. He was actually somewhat relieved to see that Pansy was here because he wouldn't have to approach her later and make everyone think he was pining after the girl. He sat next to her, as she was busy removing invisible lint off her precious muggle robe. With the event that transpired yesterday, he _had _to tell her his new plan for the Graduation Ball. She had to know that he had absolutely no intention of bringing her as his date and it would take only a thousand wizards with their wands pointed at his throat to make him change his mind. There was no other way to do it than let it out simply to spare her the anguish and hurt and _dear God I hope she doesn't bawl _on_ me. I just had this robe washed! _"Parkin—er, Pansy _dear_," he started slowly, "I—"

"Draco dear," she said, tearing her eyes off her clothes. "I—"

They looked at each other, having spoken at the same time.

"I don't want to go to the ball with you," simultaneously rolled out from their tongues.

It took Draco approximately three seconds to digest what she said.

"What!" he howled. "_You _don't _want _to go to the ball with _me_? Are you deranged, woman? _You, _the self-proclaimed president of my fan club? _You, _who used to sleep with my discarded clothes when I'm not available? Which is _always_? _You, _who used to blackmail every single girl I came in contact with? Which is _every_ woman I know, including my mother? You? Don't want to go to the ball with me? Deranged! Deranged, I say!"

When he finished, he realized that he was standing and pointing at Pansy's face repeatedly. "Are you finished?" she asked, her face concealing the tiniest bit of laughter.

Draco sank on the chair again. "Yes." He glared at her. "But don't get me wrong; I _still_ want a very long, very elaborate explanation on why you don't want to go to the ball with me." As he said the words, a chill overran his body. Imagine, a _woman_ not wanting to go out with a Malfoy? The _shame_! The _horror_! The sheer _impossibility_ of it!

But then, this was Pansy Parkinson. Technically, she didn't count.

"Where should I begin? Oh, I know." She looked at him straight in the eye. "There's that part where you asked Granger to the ball."

His jaw dropped open. Nobody else was supposed to know that! "How did—"

Pansy waved his question away. "Even boys talk. Especially when very sharp, very pointed objects are aimed at their jugulars. You know that." She tucked in an errant strand of hair. "And apparently, you asking her out _wasn't_ the only thing that happened last night."

Oh, yes. Some of the Slytherins were definitely going to die a very horrible, tragic death. This morning, if possible. While they were busy cleaning his room.

Those witless cowards. They'll soon realize what 'Hell hath no fury like a Malfoy scorned' means!

"Draco, you're _such_ a bastard." Blaise grinned, her teeth flashing brightly. "An inspiration to the rest of us, really."

"Well," he muttered bashfully. It always made him feel special to learn that his dastardly deeds were appreciated. He smiled, basking in the memory of Granger's humiliation. Then he flinched.

Blaise leaned towards him, scrutinizing a part of his cheek. "Say, is that a… a _lifeline_ along your face?"

Draco gritted his teeth. He'd been studying the very clear, very raw imprint of Granger's hand the entire night that _of course_ he didn't miss the way her lifeline branded him. The handprint he could cover with… very manly, very masculine face powder, but the lifeline? Stuck. His mirror even prompted at him, "Rough games you've been playing with your luvah, dah-ling?"

The _shame_! The _horror_! The _insinuation_!

That girl had strength her body could conceal, he'd give her that much. _Damn it, when will I learn? As if my third year experience with her hadn't taught me _that _already!_ "Yes, it's a bloody lifeline," he snapped. "In case you've missed it, that's _not_ the only thing on my face."

Pansy squinted her eyes. "Hmm. You're right. I think I see a zit over… here." She pointed at her pug nose.

He stared at her, feeling his face go cold. "Wha… how did… _zit!_" he manfully squealed.

She grinned. "Kidding."

"Wicked," said Blaise, as she placed her palm over Draco's cheek.

He slapped it away. "And what in hell do you think you're doing?"

"Measuring the size of her hand. Granger sure has one that packs a wicked slap."

"Well can you blame the poor girl?" said Pansy, taking the book Blaise abandoned. Before she opened it, though, she noticed the weird looks Draco and Blaise were throwing at her. "What?"

"You're… you're _empathizing_. With _Granger,_" said Blaise. She shuddered. "Nasty concept."

Pansy looked at her condescendingly, her nose in the air. "You do realize that this is _Hermione Granger_ we're talking about."

"So?"

"_So_, she's Potter's best friend. She could become your link to him, you know."

Blaise gasped, then glared at Draco. "You _evil_ bastard! Apologize to her, immediately!"

"_Never_," said Draco with true and deep conviction. "Why should _I _apologize? _She's_ the one who made this mar on my face. That's a crime already worth a dementor's kiss!"

"And _you're_ the one who made that stupid bet with the others. She wouldn't have slapped you if you didn't humiliate her in front of them!"

Draco clamped his mouth shut and studied Pansy, wondering if this was the same girl who happened to have 'kicking puppies' and 'being cruel to others' listed in the Official Slytherin Slum book as her favorite past time activities. _Could this be another trick? _He took in her eyes and her face. No, there wasn't any trace of intelligence in her eyes, or any difference on her face to indicate that she was anyone else except Pansy Parkinson. Just the fact that she was spouting nonsense and brimming with let's-all-be-friends logic that clearly _wasn't _imprinted in the genetic code of Slytherins. "Let me get this straight," he started slowly. "You're taking _her _side over mine?"

"You bet your narcissistic arse I am," she retorted acerbically.

He turned to Blaise. "What the hell's wrong with her? Aside from the usual, I mean."

Blaise shrugged. "Well, we _are_ talking about Hermione Granger here."

"And?"

"And she just happens to be best friends with one Ron Weasley." Blaise smirked at the other girl. "Isn't that right?"

"No!" Pansy shrieked. An entertainingly red flush started creeping towards her face. Draco didn't know _anything _could make Pansy blush. Well. Except _that_. "Of course not! What do I care about some… some filthy plebian? He lives in a burrow, for crying out loud. He's… he's _poor!_ And filthy! And poor!"

"And filthy," Blaise said, nodding.

Pansy glared at her. "Shut your trap, Zabini! You don't see _me _badmouthing your pathetic boy toy even though he's such a stupid—"

"Excuse me, but just _who_ are you calling stupid, Parkinson?"

The two were like cats eager for a royal tumble on the ground. Blaise actually growled and Pansy arched her fingers to resemble claws.

He knew he had to do something to stop this insanity. Draco could never tolerate girls who were fighting!

Unless they were fighting over _him_. Totally a different case then.

"Well," said Draco, making sure his voice was loud enough to distract the two, "isn't _this_ a surprise. I'm actually surrounded by Gryffindor lovers. As if being surrounded by Gryffindors isn't nauseating enough as it is!" He felt his stomach churn at the thought of Blaise and Pansy… or _anyone_… fancying a Gryffindor. Specifically one Harry I'm-such-a-lucky-bastard-maybe-I-inherited-leprechaun-blood-because-I-sure-do-look-like-one Potter and one Ron the-Weasel-I'm-so-poor-I-have-nothing-in-my-future-but-becoming-the-doormat-in-Draco's-bathroom Weasley.

Disgusting. Revolting. _Gross!_

"And _this_ is coming from one who just asked another Gryffindor to the ball," Blaise pointed out, her face changing to sneer properly. She cocked her brow at him. "Admit it, Draco. You're just as into Granger as Pansy is into Weasley or as I am into Harry."

The _implication! _The _subtext!_

"Am not!" denied Draco and Pansy at once. "That's insane!"

"Ah yes, the first stage of love." Blaise smiled, blissfully ignorant of two people mentally hacking her to pieces. "Denial. I remember it so well. That was the day I—"

But Draco and Pansy weren't listening to her _at all_.

"She's everything I was born to hate! I abhor her with every fiber of my being! With every breath I inhale! Every step I take! Every move I make! Every—"

"I don't even _like _him! He's poor, he's filthy, he's… he's… he has freckles! He's poor! And filthy! And freckled! Besides, I have my secret admirer, and—"

"Second stage: Rationalization." Blaise drummed her fingers on the table. "My, my, you're both progressing nicely. Any minute now you're going into the third stage, which is—"

But Draco had had it of Blaise's know-it-all attitude about love. "Stop this nonsense, Zabini! Just because you're way in over your head over a pathetic, hideously scarred Gryffindor doesn't mean _I _am as well." He paused. "Not that I'm into _Potter _or anything," he said hastily to Pansy's shocked expression. "I'm just saying Granger _isn't_ hideously scarred. Or pathetic." He paused again. Then huffed at the triumphant smirk Blaise sent him. "I. Am. Leaving! Bring this up again and I'll make you rue the very _minute_ you were born."

"Sure!" retorted Blaise. She waved at him. "See you at dance practice, loverboy."

It took all of Draco's strength to keep himself from hitting the girl.

See, 'Slytherins don't hit girls, just manipulate them into becoming masochistic.'

He stalked towards the door, intending to get some fresh air before practice started. Draco waited for the portrait to swing open, and when it did he spotted one of those he least wanted to see in his entire life. __

Apparently, this person felt exactly the same way about him. "What on earth are you doing here, Malfoy?" asked Weasel, his mouth frothing.

Draco leaned on the doorway. He learned early on that the only way to deal with an angry Gryffindor was to annoy it further and hope they'd go kill themselves afterwards. "Well," he started. "Not that I expect you to understand logic, but this _is_ the Slytherin dungeons. _I'm_ a Slytherin. Therefore, _I _belong here, unlike some filthy, freckled freak I refuse to name."

Weasel opened and closed his mouth, probably having thought that what Draco said was the truth and therefore made perfect sense.

Well wasn't that a surprise. Weasley could actually _think! _"Now, I'm prompted to ask—"

"What're you doing here?"

"Parkinson!" said Weasel, turning a pretty shade of green puke that Salazar would've been proud of. "Erm—uhm—well—"

Draco arched his brow at Pansy, then at the Gryffindor. "I believe the lady is waiting for a mildly intelligible answer, Weasley."

"Um—" He turned an even prettier shade of red that Godric would've been envious of. "SnapesaidIshouldgetyouhewantsustodosomethingtogethersohereIam."

_Huh? _Draco paused considerably. "Weasley, when I said 'mildly intelligible', I meant—"

"Doyouknowwhyanddon'twehavepracticetoday?"

"WedobutIthinkitwon'ttakeustoolongsowewon'tmissit."

"OhIseeokayareyougoingtowaitformehere?"

Weasley looked down on the floor. "UmIwashopingwecouldgoatthesametimeIhopeit'sokaywithyou."

"Wellthat'sjustfine—"

"Good lord," said Draco dramatically, looking at one and then the other. "You two have your own language. How… incredibly odd."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Shut up, Draco."

He grinned. "Even think the same way."

"Malfoy--!"

"Draco--!"

"Even _pause_ the same way! Hmm, maybe Zabini iscorrect. You _are_ as into Weasley as she is into Harry."

And Pansy turned a shade identical to Weasley's unfortunate coloring.

Draco bowed. "Ah, but what lovely, _uncomfortable_ atmosphere we have here. My job is done. I shall leave you kids alone." And off he go, humming happily as he went.

_Take _that_, Parkinson. That's what you get for not wanting to go with me to the Ball!_

He decided to drop by his room first before going to practice. "Hopelessly evil and damn good at it," Draco chanted. His portrait swung to reveal the Slytherin seventh year men in their aprons and different cleaning solutions on their hands. "And how are you all doing this morning? Enjoying the task, I hope?"

"Draco," greeted Crabbe. He lifted a large basket full of clothes. "Do you want these washed and hung? Ironed? Folded?"

He glanced at the bulky Slytherin. A lot changed between his and Crabbe's relationship since the day he… well… since _that _day. Draco knew he could never look at the other Slytherin the same way again. "Sure," he said briskly. "Do whatever you want. Just leave. Be gone. Disappear from my sight. Right now!"

It bothered him that Crabbe went out looking like a wounded little girl.

It horrified him when he heard a sniff.

It terrified him that the reason why Crabbe was hurt by his easy dismissal was because he actually _had _a thing for him.

And now he was going to wash Draco's clothes. All alone. Without anyone to watch over his activities.

His poor, innocent, soon-to-be-abused clothes. Who knew what things Crabbe would do to them?

"Goyle!" Draco barked. "Go with Crabbe. At once!"

And Goyle abandoned his spot on the floor to join an extremely put-off Crabbe.

The moment they left, Nott threw his rag on the floor. "That's it, I'm done!" He stood, making everyone pause to look at him. "This activity does _not _befit a pureblood like me! Making us clean your dirty, filthy room, this should be the work of elves—"

Draco shrugged. "_You're _the one who said I could ask you to do anything for me once I won the bet. And now that I _did_ win, you're complaining?" He clucked his tongue. "Theo, Theo, Theo. When will you learn? Don't make bets you can't honor. Or, at least, don't make bets with _me, _as I always win."

Nott inched his chin higher. "Don't be cocky. You're just lucky the Mudblood's stupid enough to fall into our trap!"

Something snapped inside Draco, making his fingers curl to his palm and bury into his skin. "Careful, Nott. You'rejust _bitter_ because you lost. But enough of this." He gazed critically around his room, then crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not happy with your work. It's unsurprisingly inadequate. Report to me after dance practice, as I still see some dirt and grime. I told you I want it sparkling clean. As of now, it's _not _sparkling or clean."

Nott looked at him with daggers glinting in his eyes. "You're going to pay for this, Malfoy."

"Am I? I think not." And he went out. ****

He was itching to hack Nott to pieces, only he didn't for as of now the bastard was in charge of cleaning his room and he could do some dastardly damage to it just to get back at Draco. He wouldn't want _that _to worry him as he tucked in at night_. _

_Sometimes_, he thought, _I'm just too_ _kind._

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," said Flitwick as Draco stepped inside the Charms classroom. "Do make yourself comfortable as we wait for the others. It shouldn't be long, I hope."

Draco nodded, then headed towards a corner. He rested his back against the wall for a moment, his eyes on the door. A flash of brown caught his attention, and then his hopes deflated – it wasn't her.

Not that he was waiting for _her _or anything. After all, he was still angry for her slapping him the previous day.

_Why should I care if she came or not? I don't! I really, _really _don't—_

"Oh!" said Flitwick as he approached. "I should inform you that Miss Granger wouldn't be joining us today, Mr. Malfoy. And since you won't be having a partner, I—"

Draco registered the words 'Granger will not be joining us today' and suddenly his senses went overdrive. "What do you mean she won't be joining us today?" he asked loudly, his back ramrod straight. Thousands of images flashed through his mind, thousands of reasons why she couldn't make it: scenes of her being attacked, of her being pulled into the lake by the Giant Squid, of her hair suffocating her to death, of her having a morning tryst with someone else—

The seventh year males present were shocked at the severity of the glare they received from Draco Malfoy. It promised a death too horrible to put into words.

Even Flitwick was taken aback at the look Draco gave him. "Mr. Malfoy," he said firmly, "kindly stop giving me your evil look. There. Thank you." He adjusted his glasses. "I reckon nothing wrong happened to Miss Granger as she herself approached me this morning to ask for an excuse. I thought the girl looked quite tired, so I agreed. Her performance so far had been excellent, so a time off won't hurt it a bit."

The explanation did nothing to quell the bile rising to his throat at the thought of her missing this practice. It was abnormal of her to do so! Didn't this midget realize that? "Are you sure you saw her today?" he pressed. "You could've been fooled! Didn't you suspect for a second that this is _Hermione Granger_ we're talking about, and it's completely OOC of her to—"

"OOC?" asked Flitwick.

"Out of character," Draco snapped. "Missing classes is not something she does. Being her professor all her life, _you _should've known that." _If something happens to her, so the late Voldemort help me… I will show you my wrath, midget! _

Flitwick was silent. "Well, I _do_ remember her missing a class during your third year." He shook his head, then fixed Draco a steady look. "Your concern for Miss Granger's safety astounds me, Mr. Malfoy, but fortunately your fears are baseless. She told me she would only be staying in her room all day."

_Only one way to find out! _"Sir, may I be excused for the dance practice?" He shuffled his feet and glanced out of the room, very impatient to get out.

Flitwick looked apprehensive. "Well… Miss Bulstrode's also absent today, and I was hoping you could take her place and dance with Mr. Long—"

But Draco had already bolted out the door.

It took him less than a minute to reach the portrait hanging before her room.

Later on, majority of the population at Hogwarts could've sworn they saw a roguishly blond and handsome shadow fleeting through corridors with unbelievable speed.

"Password?" said the damsel as she fanned herself delicately. She patted her mouth gently as she yawned.

"This _isn't_ the time for formality!" shouted Draco. "I need to see her. Let me in."

"Password?"

"Didn't you hear what I said?" He stepped closer to the portrait, and pinned on her a murderous glare. "I told you—"

"Password?"

Draco was doing everything he could to stop himself from clawing the portrait to pieces. It might ruin his nails. "Don't you know who I am, woman? I'm _Draco Malfoy, _and I order _you _to—"

The fan made a slapping sound as it closed. "Oh," said the woman eagerly, "_you're _that Malfoy! I was wondering for ages whom that name belongs to."

He drew his brows together. "What do you mean I'm '_that_ Malfoy'?"

The damsel glanced around her discreetly and said, "Well, I shouldn't be saying this but my mistress changed her password yesterday and the new one contained your name. It was surprising, really. The usual passwords were passages from books so this one was certainly… different. Less… wordy, I'll say."

A fluffy feeling fluttered inside Draco. "Interesting," he said. He cocked his head at one side. "But first, riddle me this: is she inside?"

"Why, yes."

_Now_ he could relax. "And this new password is?"

The damsel looked wickedly happy. "I shan't tell you anything, you arrogantly handsome fiend."

"I'll guess, then." He paused. "If I figure it out, will you let me in?"

"Of course, love." She winked at him. "After all, you _must _be so very desperate to see her. I shan't get in the way of your sacred quest."

Draco thought for a minute. "I love you Draco Malfoy?"

"Try again."

"You're a god, Malfoy, and I worship you?"

"Try harder."

"I'm secretly the Vice-President of the Malfoy fan club?"

The damsel grinned and pointed her fan at him. "My advice, love? Do _not _flatter yourself."

_Don't flatter myself? This is going to be harder than I thought! _"Um. Draco Malfoy you're an evil bastard?"

She clapped. "You may enter!" The portrait swung open.

"Right," said Draco wryly as he stepped inside. "As if I didn't know _that _already."

The appearance of the room startled him for a moment. He was expecting it to be screaming a vile color scheme of red and gold, with blankets and drapes a bloody shade of red and her pillows and carpets a blinding shade of gold. _This_ wasn't as Gryffindor-ic as he imagined it would be. Granger's room was of pale cream palettes, with only minute touches of red and gold here and there. All in all, it looked pleasant and warm.

Then again, he read somewhere that a room only reflected the personality of its owner, so it shouldn't surprise him that this one was pleasant and warm.

_Not _that he thought of Granger as pleasant and warm. She was a cold-hearted, vindictive, ruthless bitc—

"What in hell are you doing _here,_ Malfoy?"

See?

Well. At least she was alive. And _not_ in the process of having a morning tryst with someone else.

His eyes widened when he saw that she was clad in nothing but a very short, very tight towel, tied snugly around her chest and reaching halfway down her thighs. The picture she made was very… stimulating. "By all means, don't get dressed on my account. I enjoy the view as it is."

She turned a violent shade of red that contrasted with her yellow towel beautifully. Granger dashed towards the bathroom and closed its door with all her might.

"Hmm," muttered Draco, as he sat on a sofa. "Maybe I shouldn't have noted her current state of undress. A wickedly naughty draft could've done a _lot _of wonderful things to that towel."

_Sometimes,_ he thought, _I'm just too refined._

Moments later, and he heard the bathroom door open again. Disappointment flooded him as he noticed that she was now wearing their school uniform. The only difference was, since her hair was still dripping wet it was pasted to her skull and with it weighed down she looked almost human.

_Well. As close to a human whose face revealed a very evil intention, that is_.

"I'll ask you again: what are you doing here? How did you even get _in_?"

"The damsel recognized me and let me in." Draco crossed his arms. "By the way, I'm flattered that you used my name as a password. You're too kind."

"You shouldn't be; it was meant as an insult!" she snapped, her face coloring.

"Being described as an evil bastard all my life, I see it now as a compliment."

Granger tapped her foot against the floor. "You didn't answer my question."

Draco spotted a small tray of sweets on her desk. He stood and helped himself with one. "Which is?" he asked, biting the cookie afterwards.

"Why are you here, and what do you think you're doing?"

"Eating." He grabbed another one. "This is good. Not my usual fare of sweets, but I like it. What's it called?"

"It's called hands-off-my-cookies-you-evil-bastard." She approached him and slapped his hand away as he was reaching for a third.

"Selfish, aren't we."

"Evasive, aren't we." Granger glared at him. "A simple question, Malfoy. Why. Are. You. Here?"

He shrugged. "You didn't attend the practice today. I was curious."

She placed a hand over her chest and sighed. "Your concern just astounds me to no end."

"No need to mock," he retorted, stepping away from her and her scrumptious cookies. "And please, don't flatter yourself. I have no concern for you whatsoever."

"Oh, of course." Granger smacked herself on the forehead. "How could I've been so stupid? You made that point so clear _yesterday._" And she went to the door and stepped outside the room.

Draco followed her steps, and found her standing on a deserted hallway. "Don't tell me you really expect me to ask you to the Ball?"

"I didn't," she said loudly. "Why should I? You have no reason to do it, except humiliate me. Which you did. Congratulations." Granger clapped her hands. "Bravo."

He rolled his eyes. "Why are you being so melodramatic? I asked you to the ball, you said yes, so we're going together. You should be very happy about it."

"Oh, but I _am_," she retorted acerbically. "I'm happy you asked me, and I'm happy I said yes. The only problem is, I'm not happy about us going together, so we're _not_."

At that declaration, his entire easy mood evaporated. "What do you mean we're not?"

"Don't tell me," she said heavily, "that you really expect _me _to go the Ball with _you._"

"Of course you are!" Draco said. "You already said yes. You can't back away from that commitment."

"Don't be thick Malfoy." Granger planted her hands over her hips. "In the first place, your entire proposition was a sham. Technically, it's not valid, so my answer doesn't amount to anything. I'm not committed to you, you're not committed to me. End of story."

Her one-track mind was really starting to annoy Draco. "Why are you making this difficult? We're going to the ball _together_. End of story."

"We're not."

"We are."

"We're not!"

"We are!"

"I'm going to the Ball with Ron or Harry," she said triumphantly. "I'm not going to the Ball with _you!_"

The very _thought _of her going in the arms of either the leprechaun or the doormat sickened him to no end. "The hell you aren't!" he returned vehemently. "You're with me now. I'm not going to allow _you_ to take anyone else except _me._"

She snorted. "'You're with me now?' What exactly do you mean by _that_?" Granger demanded. "And what made you _think _I would allow you to control my decisions for me? For your information, I—"

Draco had had enough. He grabbed her by the shoulders but resisted the strong urge to shake her senseless. "This is getting us nowhere," he said low.

"I agree," she retorted. "Let me go."

"Only if you promise that you'll go to the ball with me."

Granger tried to wiggle from his grasp, but his hold was too firm. "Why are you so obsessed with that?" she asked. "Didn't I just help you win your stupid bet? That alone should've made you happy. No need to further harass me like this!"

"Are you really that _thick, _Granger?" he snarled, his face mere inches from hers. "Don't you _get _the reason why I want us to go to the Ball together?"

"Enlighten me, oh great one."

She wanted the truth? Fine. So be it. His fingers buried into her skin. "It's because I _like_ y—"

"What is going on in here?" demanded a third voice.

Draco froze. So did Granger.

Professor McGonagall looked coldly at him. "Unhand Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy. Right _now_."

Reluctantly, he did.

The professor glanced at the Gryffindor. "Are you all right, Miss Granger? Was Mr. Malfoy attacking you just now?"

Draco stared at her, defying her to say yes, but inwardly hoping she'd say no. Granger returned his cold, cold stare with one of her own.

"Miss Granger?"

Slowly, she met her Head of House's eyes. "Yes," Granger said determinedly. "He was."

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, and glared at him. "I believe," she said sternly, "that I need to see you in my office, Mr. Malfoy."

That night, Draco Malfoy served detention alone, cleaning one room after another without the use of his wand.

**Author's Notes: **Hooray! Another battle fought. Heehee. Anyways, thank you very much for your reviews! You have no idea how those make my utterly boring life less boring. Hehe. Thank. You!

I would like to apologize for not updating earlier… believe me, working is HELL. Agh! It prevents me from sitting and writing, which means I have to do it only on weekends… as an apology, I've written a ficlet involving Draco and Hermione in a very… private situation. If you leave your e-mail address on your review, I'll send it to you ;)

Oh, and for the readers of Sanctuary in Potions, I'll be updating that as well. Next week!


	9. Chapter Nine

Divine Humiliation 

_… and now, for something _completely _different… _

"And slide, slide, slide—wonderful, Mr. Nott! As beautiful a slide as it should be done… good heavens, you have improved marvelously, Mr. Finnigan! And turn, step, turn, dip – yes, Mr. Crabbe, that's it, but bend Ms. Abbott a little lower… good! Now sideways, over, and under – Miss Zabini, that's certainly some grace you exhibit in there. Mr. Potter, what tremendous grip! And Miss Parkinson, Mr. Weasley! I was absolutely correct to have partnered the two of you!" Professor Flitwick clapped as he continued to move around the dancing group, throwing praises and compliments around. "Mr. Thomas, lovely footwork. Miss Padma, beautiful, beautiful steps… as are yours, Miss Parvarti! And finally—"

Having reached the very center of the group, he stopped. And scowled. "Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger? I do believe our dance requires you to be closer to each other than that."

The students in question reluctantly stepped towards each other, each wearing obvious distaste at having to lessen the arm's length space separating them.

"Closer," instructed an annoyed Flitwick.

Another inch.

"Closer!"

Half an inch.

"I'll be deducting thirty points _apiece_ if you're separated by more than three inches. Now _move_."

Quarter of an inch.

"Thirty points from Slytherin and Gryffindor!" Flitwick wore a deep frown that darkened his features considerably. "And additional three hours of practice from this group!"

The others gave a guttural groan and threw dark glares at the Head students, who _still _refused to be in the same breathing space as the other. As soon as the teacher had turned his back on them they resumed their very heated staring, anger and loathing evident in their eyes.

"You disgust me, ferret," said Hermione in a tight voice.

"I disgust myself for touching you, Mudblood," said Draco in a low voice.

"You evil, conniving—"

"Ruthless, self-righteous—"

"Five minutes break!" announced Flitwick, all traces of his good humor gone. He rubbed his forehead and heaved a deep, troubled sigh. "When I get back, I expect everything to be in proper order, do you hear me?" He addressed the statement to and glared at Draco and Hermione, before stomping out of the room in a huff.

The said students promptly let go of the other and retreated to opposite corners of the Charms classroom, each muttering curses and obscenities but ensuring that others could hear them well enough to agree.

"Horrible, despicable—"

"Damnable, intolerable—"

"FERRET!"

"MUDBLOOD!"

Harry solemnly watched the commotion and sighed helplessly, then dropped his hands from Blaise's hips. "Nice going Malfoy," he muttered, casting a venomous glare at the Slytherin.

Blaise glanced at Draco and Hermione, then turned her eyes on Harry. "Give the boy a break, dear," she said lightly. "I believe your beloved Hermione also share some of the blame. Dearie."

He seethed at the loud – and totally inappropriate – pet name she had christened him. "Stop calling me that."

She batted her eyelashes prettily. "Stop calling you what, dearie?"

"_That. _Dearie. It's not… _we're _not… stop it."

"Oh." Blaise placed a warm hand on his arm. "Okay. Not dearie then. How about… love?"

"No."

"Lover?"

"NO!"

"Sweetheart?"

"No, no, NO." Harry clenched his teeth. "For the last time—"

"Fine." Blaise smiled at him, and he purposely looked away. She was _such _a vile snake. "I won't call you 'dear' or 'dearie' or 'love' or even 'sweetheart'. But… what do you want me to call you if not any of those?"

"Potter's fine and completely proper, _Zabini_," he answered smoothly. "I'm perfectly comfortable with us not leaving the 'surname phase', to tell you the truth."

For a moment, the lustrous look on her eyes disappeared, only to be replaced by something fiercer, darker, headier. Determination. "All right," she said slowly. "I'll give in to what you want, _Harry._"

The way his name rolled out of her tongue evoked a lot of… _improper_ images in him. He promptly shook his head to cleanse it. Why, she ought to be spanked! Wait, no. NO. "Fine. Call me whatever you want. Just not… _that_."

She wore a beguilingly innocent expression that was really grating on his nerves. "Not what, _Harry?_"

Still with the syrupy voice, the pretty batting of lashes. Voldemort and all his hordes were easier to deal with, compared to one Blaise Zabini. _Damn it! Stop this nonsense, for the love of sanity! I am a _hero. _I should know how to save _myself! "Don't call me by my first name," he gritted out. "We're _not_ friends."

A perfectly normal girl should've been offended by what he said. A perfectly normal girl would've taken the very obvious implication his words brought forth seriously. A perfectly normal girl could've stopped showering him with gifts and attention when he stated his blatant distaste of her from the very beginning.

But then, Blaise _wasn't _a perfectly normal girl and unfortunately, she _knew _it. "Of course we're _not. _That's what makes it fun, don't you think?" She linked her hands with his. "_Dearie?_"

Unfortunately, he was becoming used to _her_ behaving like that as well. Harry was completely taken aback by her tactic, he couldn't help but smile at her audacity. "You're unbelievable. You never give up, do you?"

Blaise let out a chuckle that was equal parts devilish and feminine. "Love, you of all people _should've_ been aware of the fact that I don't know the meaning of the words 'give up'."

And when Harry took the initiative to move his hands on her waist, Blaise giddily knew it was a start of something… perfectly normal.

At that moment, Flitwick re-entered the room. "Dancing positions!" he shouted, motioning with his tiny hands. He pointed at Draco and Hermione. "From the _very_ beginning!"

On the other side of the room, Pansy smiled at her feet as Ron's ridiculously large hands pulled her closer to him. But when she looked at his face, she was already frowning. "My robes," she stated clearly, "are crumpled by your abnormally oversized hands, Weasley."

"Oh, right." Ron moved his palms so that he could only feel her clothes and not the solidity of her waist. "Is that better?"

"Definitely better than being your partner and having you ruin my robe for me? Quite."

Ron lifted his brow at her quip. "At least one of us is having fun."

"And I don't blame _you_ for it."

"Curl, bend, dip—"

At Flitwick's instructions, Ron guided his hand around her waist and slowly, gently, brought Pansy on a dip. The position unavoidably placed their faces within a very close proximity that it caused her to redden slightly and him to cough shyly.

"Ahem. How's your end of the project? You _are _doing it, aren't you, because if you're not—"

Pansy could see his excruciating desire to be rid of the awkwardness between them, so she played along. "Of course I _am_ doing my part, Weasel. I understood perfectly what Snape told us yesterday, and how dare _you _insinuate—"

"Step to the side, over and under—"

Ron moved behind Pansy and together they stepped three times to the right and three times to the left. "Well _that's _a relief. At least I don't have to explain to Snape that his pug-nosed student is responsible why the color of the potion for the walls is green instead of red!"

She gasped theatrically. "Why, you just astound me to no end. You managed to string all those big words together and not step on my feet at the same time! However do you manage it, I wonder?"

Ron fought the urge to shake her until she lost consciousness. "Shut up, Parkinson."

Pansy fought the urge to step on his toe until it flattened and doubled in size. "_You _shut up, Weasley."

But they were grinning sheepishly whenever they're _not _looking at each other.

Caught smack in the middle of the whole commotion stood Draco and Hermione, blissfully unaware of the damage their stubbornness brought to their classmates but consciously aware of how _close _they were being. Their steps were calculated, cold; their movements rigid, restrained. Only the thought that it would anger Flitwick more kept them from abandoning their practice and walking out of the room, no matter how tempting or _right _the said thought was. So, for the benefit of Professor Flitwick, they held on to each other and danced. _If _what they were doing could be called dancing

Truth be told, what they were doing _now _only managed to aggravate the poor professor even more. "You were supposed to sway with Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy."

"You were supposed to let Mr. Malfoy guide your movements, Miss Granger."

"Mr. Malfoy, your feet should be in synchrony with Miss Granger's."

"Miss Granger, your hand should be placed at Mr. Malfoy's shoulder."

"Mr. Malfoy, do you know the meaning of the words 'moving together'? Yes? Do it."

"Miss Granger, if you have the time do look up the meaning of 'in harmony' and practice it."

"Mr. Malfoy—"

"Miss Granger—"

"Mr.—"

"Miss—"

"ENOUGH!" the professor finally howled, after what seemed like an eternity of watching the two wreck the dance floor.

The room quieted down as they watched Flitwick glower.

Admittedly, the tiny professor was just as terrifying to behold when angry as Snape was when delighted.

"Everyone," breathed Flitwick heavily, "except Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy, step out of the room. NOW."

They did.

Harry and Ron threw glances at Hermione, but she refused to meet their eyes – she was too busy glaring holes through Draco's head.

Blaise and Pansy tried to catch Malfoy's eyes, but he wouldn't look at them – he was too busy imagining Hermione's neck between his hands.

They were the last four to step out of the room, and when Harry closed the door, they all wore worried looks on their faces.

Yes, even Slytherins became worried over their kin every once in a while.

"Do you think something's going to happen to Hermione?" Ron questioned, throwing a nervous glance at the door.

Blaise rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "Ever the oblivious one, aren't you Weasley?"

"Hey!" Pansy snapped. "It's a legitimate question. But…" She glanced at the door. "Do you think something's going to happen to Draco?"

"One can only hope," Harry said. "After all, only stupid people care about Malfoy – offense meant, Parkinson."

"Hey!" Ron snapped.

Harry looked at him oddly. "What?"

"N-nothing."

Blaise placed her ear on the door, and frowned. "They're all talking in hushed tones," she told them. She shook her head. "I can't make anything out."

Harry looked troubled as he stared at the door. "Well—"

"Harry, Ron!" said a perky voice.

Blaise and Pansy immediately glared at the newcomer. _Who are _you _to talk to my man? _they thought in unison.

But Ginny was, thankfully, oblivious to all of it.

"What're you doing here?" demanded her brother.

Ginny grinned, her fingers curled around a necklace dangling from her throat. "Just… wandering around." She sent a meaningful look at her brother that traveled from him to Pansy, then back again. "I see we've been busy lately, haven't we, Ronald."

Ron's ears purpled as an ill-concealed embarrassed expression flooded his face. "_Ginny—_"

Ginny turned her attention on the other pair. She noted how close Blaise was to Harry and said, "Now _this _is something I never expected from you, Harry."

Harry's eyes blazed from underneath his glasses. "_Ginny—_"

"Oh, fine, fine. I won't say a word." Ginny finally let go of the necklace, and the people around her got a good look at it.

Pansy frowned as she stared at the tear-shaped ruby pendant suspended from a golden strap around Weaslette's throat. "That looks mighty familiar," she muttered.

Ginny looked at her. "Lovely, isn't it?" she asked flippantly, but didn't bother to wait for an answer. "What are you all doing out here, by the way? Don't you have dance practice?"

"It's ended," answered Ron.

"We're only waiting for Hermione," replied Harry, casting another look at the door. "She's in there."

"With Draco," added Blaise.

Ginny's eyes widened. "They're _inside?_ On their own?" A grin lighted her features, and she clapped her hands enthusiastically. "Oh Merlin, I knew it! I knew those two were—"

Ron and Harry looked revolted at the point Ginny was driving at. "They're with Flitwick," supplemented Harry.

Ginny screwed her face up. "Ew! Gross!"

"They're _not_ doing what you think they're doing," snapped Ron, screwing his face the way Ginny did. "Stop thinking that! That's disgusting!"

"What?" asked Ginny, batting her lashes innocently. "I think it's possible. With Draco and Hermione, I mean. What with Malfoy's admission and that article at the _Howling_—"

"Shh!" Blaise motioned with her hands, then stepped back. "They're coming!"

They all backed away from the door, and when it opened it spewed forth two extremely volatile students, with an extremely volatile professor flanking their heels.

"I hope," said Flitwick with an empathic glare at Draco and Hermione, "that I'll see better performances from you both tomorrow, or I shall take these matters to Professors Snape and McGonagall!" At that, he slammed the door full force.

The two students simultaneously glared at the door, then at each other.

"Hermione—"

"Hermione?"

"Hermione!"

"Draco!"

"Draco—"

These two looked at those who spoke their names, then glanced at those who didn't. Hermione fixed on a placidly bland expression that had Blaise and Pansy raising their brows at her pretense. Draco, meanwhile, wore a very tight expression that had Harry and Ron on the alert, ready to grab their wands once the blond, disgusting git tried to do something wrong. Like breathe. Or blink.

Ginny was slightly taken aback when Malfoy's eyes traveled to her. His tight expression grew furious, and sparks flew from his eyes.

"You," he said quietly, fiercely, "where did you get that?" He pointed at the necklace.

"Ginny—" Hermione began, but was cut short when Draco glared at her. She looked away.

The sixth year raised her brow in surprise before grabbing the necklace again. "Someone gave it to me," she said easily. "It's mine."

Draco's jaw twitched, but he didn't say anything.

"You got a problem with that, Malfoy?" asked Harry in a heroic tone that almost sent Blaise in a swooning fit.

The Slytherin turned his eyes on him. "As a matter of fact, Potter—"

"Don't," said Hermione in a low tone. "Don't you dare."

Draco stared at her, then at Ginny, then trudged off into the direction of the Slytherin Common Room.

Blaise placed a hand on Harry's arm before going after him. Pansy shrugged at Ron before she, too, followed.

Hermione glared at the departing Slytherins, curled her hands to fists, lifted her chin up, and marched towards her room.

Ron, Harry, and Ginny were left pondering amongst themselves what the hell just happened.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Ron.

Harry shrugged. "Something between Malfoy and Hermione, I'd wager."

"Brilliant deduction, Potter," muttered Ginny under her breath. "Duh!"

"Well what could it be?"

"I really don't have a clue."

"You don't think Malfoy hurt Hermione, do you? Why, I ought to—"

"If he does," murmured Harry darkly, "then we'll make sure—"

Ginny had had enough of the supremely intelligent conversation these two idiots were having. "Men," she intoned helplessly. "Ever the slowest creatures in the world, aren't you all?"

"Shut up." Ron pointed at the necklace. "Where _did _you get that, by the way?"

"Hermione lent it to me."

"She did?" asked Ron.

"But Ginny, didn't you say—"

"I know what I said," said Ginny in an exasperated voice. "I wanted to prove something so I told Malfoy I owned it. Now, I _have_ proven that something I wanted to prove." She smiled. "All the proof I need is right _here_." She clutched at the necklace.

"Huh?" asked Ron. "Proof? What proof?"

Harry glared at her. "Can you please speak in a language we at least understand?"

Ginny lifted her chin at them. "Three days ago, Hermione didn't _have _this necklace. Or even the matching earrings and ring it came with. Yesterday, she lent them to me. Today, _Malfoy_ got enraged seeing this on _me._ Do you see where I'm going with this?"

Harry was quiet. "Not really."

"Ginny," said Ron breathlessly, "go straight to the point or I swear to Merlin I'm going to wring your neck—"

"Malfoy gave this to Hermione," announced Ginny with a flourish.

There was silence.

Then there was chaos.

"What?"

"WHAT?"

"What do you mean—"

"MALFOY GAVE THAT TO HERMIONE?!"

"That's stupid!"

"THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!"

"Of course it's possible!" Ginny argued. "It just happened. Hello? Weren't you listening?"

"Why on earth would Malfoy give something like that to Hermione?"

"MORE IMPORTANTLY, WHY WOULD HERMIONE KEEP IT?"

"Ask her, why don't you," Ginny answered. "And don't you _dare_ show me your infamous Capslock-y Rage, Harry Potter, or even your Apoplectic Rage, Ron Weasley. I know them both well enough to recognize the symptoms."

Ron and Harry took deep breaths to regain their control.

"Are you both ready to be civil to me?"

They nodded.

"Good." Ginny smiled benignly at them. "Who're you taking to the Graduation Ball?"

The abrupt change in topic sent both Ron and Harry's thoughts into chaos once more, rendering them both unintelligible for a couple of seconds. "Huh?"

"What?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "It's an easy question," she snapped. "Who're you taking to the Ball? And you both can't say Hermione, because she's already going with Malfoy."

Peace.

Then uproar.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE'S WITH MALFOY?"

"That's stupid!"

"WE'LL SEE ABOUT THAT!"

"Yeah, Harry! Let's!"

And off they stomped.

Ginny blinked. "Was it something I said?"

Alone in her room, Hermione flung herself to bed. She tried to control her breathing, for she was gulping in huge amounts of air like a fish out of water. She needed to calm down. She needed to rationalize.

She needed to kill Draco Malfoy.

There was just no reason _not _to do it.

Hermione drew her knees to her chest, and realized with a start that she was going to cry.

She felt like crying. All she had to do was remember how Malfoy had looked at her that morning, and all of a sudden there was a heaviness setting in her stomach, plotting upwards until her lungs were full and her heart was thick and her eyes were filled with tears.

But she'd die first before she shed one tiny drop _because _of Malfoy. Her pride wouldn't let her manifest that weakness.

What she needed was to do something to appease it.

What she needed was _revenge_.

And revenge she would have.

Inside the Slytherin Common Room, Draco paced restlessly, his feet making permanent marks on the floor as he walked to and fro. His hands were clasped behind him, his lips pressed tightly together, his mind weaving through a thousand thoughts at once.

But they were all centered on one being.

_Granger. _

That woman was going to be the death of him. He was sure of it.

But not if he got to her first.

She was unacceptably irritating this morning. As if _she _had the reason to be angry! _She_, who was the primary reason why Draco had spent most of the night scrubbing floors, dusting shelves, and generally all tasks normally done by house elves! She had the _gall _to be angry at him, when all the while it was _he _who deserved to give her a piece of his mind! And that necklace… she had the _impudence_ to give away the jewelry he gave her! Didn't she recognize that he wanted to see it on nobody else but _her?_ That was why he gave her that necklace in the first place, damn it! Unforgivable. Truly, _truly_ unforgivable.

Granger had gone too far this time.

He stopped pacing, earning an approval from Blaise and Pansy. But he wasn't paying attention to what they were saying.

Draco was concocting a brilliant plan in order to end everything once and for all.

He'd be damned to let one slip of a girl – a _Mudblood!_ – outsmart him in a game he started himself.

What he needed was revenge.

And revenge he would have.

He stormed out of the Common Room, earning protests from the two women now flanking his heels.

"He's demented," Pansy commented as she tried to keep up.

"Well, didn't I tell you he's in love with Granger?" said Blaise.

"SHUT UP, Zabini!"

"Oops." Blaise looked sheepish. "I thought he wouldn't hear me."

"Of course he could hear you," Pansy said. "He could hear anything involving Granger."

"SHUT UP, Parkinson!"

"See?" She raised her brows. "Remember yesterday when I wasn't believing anything you said about… you know, love?"

"Yes?"

Pansy grinned at Blaise. "I'm a believer now."

"I'm so pleased that you finally see the light!" Blaise said with a smile. She stared at Draco. "Let's just see what's going to happen with him."

On their way to Hermione's room, Harry and Ron walked very fast.

"I don't believe it. Hermione's going with Malfoy!" said Ron.

"No," said Harry, emphatically shaking his head. "There's no proof yet. We need to ask Hermione ourselves."

Ron turned to him, incredulous. "Didn't you hear what Ginny said?"

"I did," answered Harry. "But I need to hear it from Hermione. She's the only one who could explain it all."

They were silent for a while.

"Say, Ron. Who _are _you taking to the Ball?"

At this, Ron cleared his throat and mumbled a name.

At first, Harry couldn't believe his ears. "Parkinson? You're thinking of taking Parkinson to the Ball?"

Ron glanced at his friend. He knew Harry was _very _surprised to hear it, but did he have to look so disgusted at the notion? With a heavy heart, he shook his head. "Er, no," he lied. "I said I didn't have anyone in mind yet."

The expression on Harry's face eased. "Oh."

"What about you, Harry?"

He mumbled a name.

_That _stopped Ron in his tracks. "You're taking _Zabini?_ Are you mad? She didn't place a spell on you, did she?"

Harry was instantly defensive at the mocking tone of Ron's voice. "Of course she didn't," he said. He thought for a second, and blurted out, "I haven't thought of anyone either."

"Oh," said Ron. They both started walking again. "But that's okay, isn't it? I mean, you and I dateless and all? That's _way _better than having a Slytherin for a date, right?" Ron felt sick to his stomach just forcing the words out.

"Right," answered Harry in a low tone. He looked away.

"Right," repeated Ron. "Now let's convince Hermione to change her mind about going with Malfoy."

That thought kept them going faster than before.

But never in their wildest dreams were they prepared to see something like _this._

In her room, Hermione had straightened herself and was now heading towards the door.

She needed to find Malfoy and talk to him.

That was the only way for her plan to work.

Hermione's hand shook a bit as she reached for the handle. She took a deep breath, counted to ten, then swung it open.

The doorway revealed a smiling Draco Malfoy, with one hand resting on the wall while the other curling on his waist.

She blinked. Then blinked again.

"Hello, Hermione," he practically purred, his eyes glinting as he looked at her.

He was up to something, she could tell right away.

But she wouldn't let herself be swayed, or show anything to indicate she was onto him.

"Draco!" she said with a smile. Hermione pushed her way out of the room. "Just the person I wanted to see."

Draco fought hard to control himself from raising his brow at the sickeningly sweet tone she had opted for. And that smile on her face? Totally fake. As far as he could tell, her lips might be parted in a smile but her eyes were still stabbing him in their gaze.

She was acting, no doubt about it.

_This _should be fun to play along with.

"Really?" he said smoothly. "And why would that be, I wonder?"

Hermione looked down at her feet. She was disgusted at herself for having to sound so coy and flirtatious, but she had to. She _must! _"Remember when you asked me to go with you to the Ball?"

"Yes?"

"Well, I was thinking…" At this, she raised her eyes to par with his. "Maybe we _should _go together."

Draco didn't have to force the grin that came to him. Oh, she was making this way _too _easy for him. "I'm delighted to hear that. Tell me, what prompted your change of heart?"

"Nothing, really. It's just that… well, I've thought about it, and I deemed it practical to go with you."

He stepped towards her, and she stepped back. They kept doing this until he had her cornered at a wall. "Are you sure it has nothing to do with…" Draco leaned in closer to her, saw her eyes widen, then brushed his lips across hers very briefly, suggestively. "…this?"

A shiver ran across her skin at the intimacy of his touch, but it was ruined when Hermione thought of just how he was using his kiss as a weapon to weaken her. _Not gonna work, Malfoy, _she thought viciously. But her hands were on his arms now, and she pressed her body closer to his. "It might," she breathed.

"Then it's settled." Draco wrapped his arms around her waist, then kissed her thoroughly, seductively. She responded in kind. He slanted. She followed. He sucked. She mimicked. He bit. She did better.

And then it was over. They both breathed heavily after the encounter. He noted that her cheeks were flushed. She noted that his eyes were glazed.

Draco ran a finger down her cheek, then saluted at her. "I'll see you tomorrow, luv."

Hermione smiled. "You too."

He turned on his heels and walked towards his room, humming as he did. _It's begun._

She pushed the door of her room open and stepped inside. _It's begun._

Outside, the four people who had unfortunately witnessed the duel of talks and tongues were still reeling in shock.

"Now _that_," said Blaise, as she trained her eyes on Harry, "is how a kiss should be done."

"Merlin," Ron muttered. "Did you—have you—wha—abba—dabba—"

Harry nodded, then closed his eyes as if to will the images away. "I think I'm going to be sick," he muttered.

"Me too," said Pansy. She placed a hand on her mouth. "Draco never kissed me _that _way before!"

Ron gave her a very heated glare.

"I… what I mean to say is, he didn't… really… you know… kiss me… at all…"

Blaise suddenly clapped. "This is _so_ exciting," she said. "I can't wait to see what happens next!"

Harry and Ron started mumbling incoherently, glared at Blaise, and then walked away.

"What?" Blaise called out. "Am _I _the only one excited about this?"

Apparently not.

Parvarti Patil and Lavender Brown just happened to be walking by when they saw Draco giving Hermione a thorough inspection with his mouth.

"Merlin," they said in unison, eyes widening at what they were seeing. They looked at each other, nodded, then scrambled away with a very _juicy _topic for that day's _Conversations at the Girls' Bathroom._

When dawn came the next morning, Draco and Hermione were the hottest couple Hogwarts had ever had.

**Author's Notes: **dodges flying tomatoes I'm sorry for the late posting… the MUSE wasn't working with me for the last couple of weeks. Oh, boy! Things are definitely heating up! Thank you very much for the reviews, you guys! I love you all! glomps everybody reading

Hehe. I told you it was different. But I'll be back to the standard format next chapter… unless the MUSE tackles me with yet another method… ;) Hope you liked this one!


	10. Chapter Ten

**Divine Humiliation**

"What? Are you—that's not just some crazy rumor, is it? Because it'd be annoying if it's, like—"

"Merlin knows we're so fed up with a _lot _of unbelievable things that if this isn't, you know, like true—"

"You guys! I swear I heard it straight from Parvarti's lips, and that she actually _saw—_"

Three heads bent together, then drew back in wide astonishment.

"You're kidding!"

"Those two? Isn't that… I don't know, like travesty or something?"

"Like totally! Falling in love with your enemy is like… like totally far out!"

"Like yeah!"

"_Hello_? Don't you know that 'falling in love with your enemy' ranks the highest in a recent survey conducted by Georgiana Sinclair on 'What Women Under the Age of Twenty Dream About'? Something about… about unresolved sexual tension or something. The whole 'I pull your pigtail because I like you!' is really _very_ sexy."

Silence.

"Oh, wow. UST."

"Like, yeah."

Hermione just _had _to roll her eyes at the absurdity of the conversation, but then again, it was one of the 'better' scenarios she'd witnessed as the day slowly progressed. Some were as dumb as Slytherin girls cracking their knuckles at her and threatening to shed her blood for daring to claim their leader as her boy-toy. Some were as frivolous as Gryffindor girls shrieking in delight at finally having to crack open that stupid gap between the houses. Some were even as melodramatic as several of the Gryffindors or Slytherins openly declaring that they would now accept invitations, be it for dinner or something more serious or _scandalous_, from their 'rival' schoolmates.

And all because of one kiss from the _Hottest Couple in Hogwarts History_. That only a handful of students witnessed, by the way.

Who knew that one act could produce such an amazing amount of change in the entire student body?

Someone had the nerve to ask her if she and Malfoy already _practiced_ 'Inter-house unity.' As if!

It didn't stop there, though.

That morning, she was actually dragged into the girls' bathroom where she was mobbed by dozens of girls aged eleven to seventeen asking… no, _demanding, _that Hermione share something about her experience now that she was officially the girlfriend of one Draco Malfoy, a.k.a-suddenly-the-most-desirable-man-to-ever-step-on-Hogwarts. Which made her Hermione Granger, a.k.a-the-world's-most-blessed-and-lucky-woman-EVER.

Which _really _made her feel like wanting to commit everyone around her to St. Mungo's. Clearly, they've all gone clinically insane.

If she'd known her revenge would come fully equipped with this sudden interest in her love life, she would've done herself a favor and kidnapped, gift-wrapped, and sent Malfoy to the Dementors as a late Christmas present. Or possibly strung him up and draped him like mistletoe at the Great Hall. _Hmm. Lovely mental image._

But there was no use for wishful thinking now, was there?

"WHAT?!" was her very intelligent reaction to the onslaught of questions thrown at her face. "What are you all talking about?" she demanded, careful to keep the hysteria off her voice. _They couldn't… they couldn't possibly know about—_

"Come on Hermione," Ginny told her, winking like the conspiratorial gossiper that she was. "Don't act like this 'thing' between you and Malfoy's a secret. Why, _everybody_ knows it by now!"

So much for _that_ thought.

_Keep it under control, Hermione Granger. There'd be no sense in trying to hex what they know out of them_. _Plus! Detention, graduation… my semi-pristine record…_ "Everybody knows what? Will someone _please _explain to me what you're all ranting about?"

Padma Patil stepped out of the crowd, quill and paper on the ready. "This is for _Howling Hogwarts' _next edition, Hermione. What do you feel now that you and Draco Malfoy are considered a 'couple'? How will you explain to us how you developed this controversial 'thing' between the two of you?"

Cursing the fire on her cheeks she cried, "What 'thing'? There is no 'thing'! There was _never_ a 'thing'' You're all gravely mistaken about this 'thing'!" She took deep breaths, looked at each face in the very crowded and _hot _bathroom. Very skeptical ones stared right back at her.

"So… you're saying there's _nothing _going on between you and Malfoy?"

"No!"

"Oh, really?" Ginny countered with a very sly smile. Funny how she wasn't sorted into Slytherin, really. "Then I guess what you and Malfoy did outside your room is something you do with all your male acquaintances, huh."

Mortification filled her to the brim, making her mouth drop open in surprise. _I will not lose control. I will not lose control. I will NOT lose control._ Forcing herself to ignore what Ginny said Hermione muttered, "What made you _think _that… that Malfoy and I can possibly be a—" she winced, "—a couple?"

Without preamble, Lavender and Parvarti shot their hands up in the air. Something they _never _did in class.

Well, they did in Divination, but that wasn't really the point here. And not that _that _was really a class.

"We saw you two," said Parvarti.

"In each other's arms—" contributed Lavender.

"—without a space between you—"

"—your lips begging for a kiss—"

"—your eyes telling each other—" Parvarti suddenly grabbed Lavender by the waist and spoke in a deep, masculine tones, "—'love me, darling Hermione!'"

Lavender placed the back of her hand against her forehead and squeaked, "—'cherish me, Draco _mi amor_!—''

"All right," said Hermione tightly, trying not to throw up as she watched these two reenact so ludicrously, "I get what you're saying. You both saw us… do _that._" _And excuse me, I did NOT squeak! _she thought in indignation.

"Kiss," corrected Lavender.

"Unless you were considerate enough to help Malfoy locate his tonsils with your tongue," snickered Parvarti.

The mental image was enough to make her skin shrivel and die. "For Merlin's sake, we have minors!" cried Hermione, pointing at the dozen children loitering in the bathroom.

Ginny dismissed them with a wave of her hand. "Oh, please. Like they _don't_ know about those stuff, anyway." She fixed an uncomfortably interested gaze at her friend. "So, Hermione. Details? Explanations? We'll all be _so _glad to listen to what you have to say."

The others nodded repeatedly.

_The nerves of these people! _"Um… well…"

"What prompted you to have a relationship with him?" asked Susan, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

"How long have you been seeing each other?" asked Hannah.

"What can you say about this relationship affecting the legendary Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalry?" asked Padma, quill slapping against paper in rhythm.

_Like hell it will! _"About that—"

"Oh My God! Have you seen him _without_ his clothes?" asked an ickle firstie.

Hermione just _had_ to look scandalized. "Why you little gossi—"

"How does he kiss?" asked a second year. "Rate it. Scale of one to ten!"

"I bet it's a twenty!"

"I bet it's one hundred even!"

A chorus of giggles and girly sighs fleeted in the room.

"Oh Hermione, you lucky, lucky you!" they gushed in unison.

Appalled by the invasion of her privacy, Hermione struggled to fight the blinding migraine she was developing. For the love of sanity, it wasn't like her private life was some _book_ that could be dissected at anyone's will! In a tight voice she seethed, "For the last time, Malfoy and I are _not_—"

"Seriously, Hermione. Why do you think Malfoy fell head over heels in love with you? Is it, a) you suddenly grew beautiful this summer as you felt the need to be more than just one of the boys and must actually _be_ noticed by them, b) you helped Malfoy overcome a problem so pivotal that you changed his outlook on life, love, and blood, c) Dumbledore just popped in one day and told you that for an inane reason you and Malfoy should be married, and by the way, you're not yet married to each other… are you? d) Harry and Ron ignored you all of a sudden, and you turned to Malfoy for companionship albeit the scathing sarcasm on both your parts, or e) this is just one of those cliché romances that evolved from a single bet?"

The room held its breath as they waited for Hermione to answer Padma's very twisted question.

She blinked. After a long time she said, "What was the question again?"

Surprisingly, all the girls looked satisfied at her answer. Again, an annoying chorus of girly sighs and giggles haunted the room.

Hermione had a frightening image of all the girls coming up to her for a hug. She swallowed hard, trying to dismiss the image.

"I knew it," said Lavender, rubbing her palms together in glee.

"Ah, love," breathed Parvarti, heaving a deep sigh.

"Sweet, sweet love, crushing down walls, pillaging away barriers…" Susan and Hannah looked at each other and giggled feverishly. Who knew Hufflepuffs had a knack for nonsensical poetry?

Padma furiously scribbled in her notebook, '_this _may_ be the beginning of a legendary romance between former foes, and only _Howling Hogwarts _has the scoop on how—_'

Throwing her arms up Hermione said, "This is insane! I haven't even answered the question yet and you all think—"

"But you didn't have to! It's very evident in the way _you_ weren't able to think properly when asked a simple question," Ginny shrewdly pointed out. "So unlike you, Hermione Granger."

At that moment, Hermione wanted to throttle her. Or snap her bones like breadsticks. Whichever. Her fingers positively itched for the younger girl's neck… one mighty force and _cccrrraaaccckkksnaaapppp—_

As if reading Hermione's evil intention, Ginny held her hands up defensively. "It's not that I blame you or anything. I mean, come on, he might be a slimy Slytherin but I think _he's_ perfect for you."

Hermione's eyes twitched dangerously. "_Ginny—"_

"She's right, Hermione! Just look at Malfoy. He's, what, only _the_ most desirable male to ever set foot on Hogwarts?" Susan said. "Since when?" Hermione returned acidly. "This morning?" 

"His height is perfect for yours," added Hannah, ignoring the comment.

"He's blond," said Parvarti.

"And gorgeous," said Lavender.

"Witty," sighed a fifth year.

"Romantic," gushed an unfamiliar sixth year.

"And blond," said Parvarti.

"And so… cunning," whispered a fourth year.

"And gorgeous," said Lavender.

"Sly," added Padma.

"Rich," giggled a third year.

"Gorgeous," said Lavender.

"And blon—"

"All right!" Hermione repeated, not wanting to have Malfoy's list of stupid adjectives grow longer by the second. "I get it, okay?" She rubbed her temples with her fingers. _Three more minutes, _she thought. _Three more minutes and I'll step out of this room, and if I have to take them all out I swear to God I will—_

"So," Ginny asked, casually studying her nails, "any plans for a date? And don't you dare lie—I can have your answer verified, you know." She had a determined gleam in her eyes as she spoke.

Hermione glared at her. "Then why don't you just ask your sources if Draco and I—"

"Aha! _Draco!_"

"First name basis!"

"_Love!_"

The room was so hushed Hermione could swear she could hear her heart ring in her ears. She cursed herself for that tiny slip. This was _exactly _her version of an excruciating torture: sure, bring in the agony of being questioned to death. _Questions to which I've no definite answers, I might add!_ "Fine," she muttered, casting a venomous glance around her. "Fine. If you must know, _Malfoy _and I are going to the Graduation Ball together. There. Satisfied?"

There was silence.

For a moment Hermione thought they hadn't heard. Or had gone deaf. _Hopefully_.

Then as one, all the girls rushed out of the room, emitting high-pitched shrieks of pent-up excitement and glee.

And _that _was how news of her so-called _relationship _with Malfoy was confirmed. Like wildfire, it consumed Hogwarts entirely that by the time dance practice arrived even Professor Flitwick had heard of it.

Which was odd, because _normally _the faculty didn't concern itself with the 'romantic' affairs of the students.

"Ah, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy," the professor said, his eyes twinkling as he looked at them. "Now that you're… shall we say, _together_, I expect that your performance today will be a far cry from yesterday's, hmm?"

Hermione hastily looked away, but curiosity got the better of her and she stole a glance at Malfoy.

He was smiling rather… _evilly_. "Of course, sir."

"Yes," said Hermione, turning at the professor before she was caught. "Of course, sir." The way Malfoy was smiling made her feel slightly nauseous. Who knew what dreadful things occurred in his head?

"Very good, very good. And… dare I say that yesterday's events were all just a product of a spat?"

Malfoy nodded, and directed this statement at Hermione, "It's all been taken cared of."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she ignored it.

"Well. Let's hope it won't happen again." Professor Flitwick winked at them and clapped. Music started playing in the room. "Positions, everyone. I can tell we'll all have a marvelous time today!"

Malfoy took her in his arms, holding her closer than he had in their previous practices. "So," he told her, his breath tickling her ear, "we're a couple, huh."

He said it so casually that what he said might as well be about the weather. "I believe _they _believe we are," she pointed out.

Malfoy drew back. "I don't suppose _you_ have anything to do with it?"

She lifted her chin haughtily at him. _Why you nasty bast—_ "I did nothing of that sort, and how dare you insinuate that _I_—"

"Really?" His smile was pure malice and fiendish delight. "That wasn't what I heard."

"What _did _you hear, anyway?"

He chuckled. "That we're a couple, and all because of a kiss we did. That I reckon only a few people saw." Malfoy made a big show of looking around him. "I suppose we should have a repeat performance; that way they'll get firsthand information rather than rely on rumors." True to his word, he wrapped his arm around her waist and moved towards her.

Blushing like mad, she placed her hands on his chest. "No! Let's not—"

"You're right," he said, backing away. How she hated the way his eyes glinted so wickedly, like he had some sort of plan—"You're right."

Hermione removed her hands from him. "Thank you." _At least he had the decency to—_

"We _should _do it in the Great Hall. That way, _all _will have the privilege to witness it."

He was _such_ a sneaky bastard! "Malfoy—"

"Hush now, Granger" He tightened his hold on her hand, and at Flitwick's instruction twirled her into his embrace. "Don't start a fight. Not when everybody's looking at us as the _Hottest Couple in Hogwarts History._ Which is true, don't you agree?"

Stifling her cry of outrage, she kept her mouth shut. But Malfoy was right; she could feel a lot of eyes on her and Malfoy as they danced. Which was uncomfortable, to say the least.

Two sets of eyes burned her the fiercest. Unfortunately, she knew to whom those belonged to.

The practice came to an end almost too abruptly, with the professor in very high spirits. "Well done, all of you!" he said, clapping his tiny hands repeatedly. "Well done! And with the dance only days away, I reckon that all of you will perform spectacularly." He patted Hermione's arm, as well as Malfoy's. "Fifty points to all the houses, and have a happy day!"

The students poured out of the room, but Malfoy held her back to wait for the others to get out. "Two o'clock, my room," he told her, brushing his knuckles against her cheek briefly. "We still have that speech to work on, don't we, luv?"

She nodded, bristling at the intimate touch he gave her. _The nerve!_ "I'll be there."

"I'll be waiting." And then he flashed that sickeningly fake smile, and left her alone in the room.

Hermione took a deep breath, preparing herself for the inevitable but hoping it wouldn't happen at all. But as she stepped out of the classroom she became aware of two sets of feet trailing behind her. She quickened her pace, hoping to lose them. Unfortunately, they hastened their pace as well, until two royally enraged Gryffindors were at her sides, flanking her.

She had no choice but to face them _now._

"Hermione," said Harry, lightly taking her by the arm, "we have to talk."

"That's right," contributed Ron, speaking through thin lips. "We have to talk some sense into _you_."

Like _this _was something she looked forward to all day. "Really, guys," she started, taking her arm off Harry's hold, "can we just—"

"Eager to get back at your boyfriend, aren't you?" Ron told her bitingly.

Hermione cringed. "He's not my boyfriend," she stated. Too quickly.

Harry looked at her in complete silence, his eyes contemplative behind his glasses.

How she hated him when he was like this, all big brotherly like and overprotective. Suddenly she wished he were all CAPSLOCKY – because Hermione knew _exactly _how to deal with him when he was like that. But when he was silent like this…

"Malfoy's _not _my boyfriend," she repeated with greater emphasis but in a lower voice. She looked over at Ron, who was showing early signs of apoplexy. "Believe me. I know what I'm doing."

"Really?" Ron crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Then why are you spending all your time with him?"

"I'm _not _spending all my time with him! Look, why don't we go to my room, and I'll—"

"No, I think we'll discuss this Malfoy 'thing' you have right _here_," Ron insisted, his face an ugly purple. He stomped his foot to illustrate his point.

Irritated, Hermione glanced around her. She spotted a door, and upon opening it she found the room to be empty. "All right," she said. "Go in, both of you."

They did.

Once inside the room, Hermione cast a silencing charm around so that no one _else _would hear what she had to say. She took a deep breath, conscious of the troubled and furious looks Harry and Ron threw at her.

Wasting not one more second, Ron launched into his tirade. "If you're not spending time with him, then why are you going to the Ball with him?"

She cast a surprised look at him. "Been listening to the rumors, haven't you Ronald?"

Ron's face reddened. "Actually, we _saw_ you commit to that with your tongue."

Harry straightened. "Ron—"

The migraine she lost during practice returned to her with a vengeance. "I'm sorry you have to see that," she began. "Look. What I'm saying is, I'm not going with Malfoy because I want to, so stop looking at me like I'm in love with him or something. I'm going with him because I _have_ to."

"Like that _ever _made any sense!" snarled Ron.

"Why?" Harry asked.

_Am I really going to tell them everything? _Hermione wasn't sure, but she also wanted to clear things up among the three of them. "Because Malfoy's a bastard, and someone had to put him in his place." _There. That should be enough, for now._

"And automatically, it just _had_ to be you," said Ron, irritated. "Merlin, Hermione! Why does it have to be _you?_"

She sent him a scathing glance. "I have a score to settle with him, and I won't stop until I make him pay."

"Hermione—" said Harry, but was cut off when she spoke in a low voice.

"Harry, Ron, listen to me. Please, don't ask me to give you a detailed explanation because I personally think it's between me and Malfoy. You don't have to be involved in it, because you never were." She paused. "Trust me. I _know_ what I'm doing."

The silence they gave her was deafening, until one of them broke it. "Tell us one thing. Did he—" said Ron, his face tightening,"—did he hurt you?"

Hermione slowly shook her head. "Pride's what's at stake here. I can't ever forgive him for making a fool out of me time and again." Harry and Ron shared a look she didn't want to interpret. Ron swore under his breath but didn't say anything more. Harry stared at her, and finally spoke, "All right, Hermione. We respect your decision, but we also want you to know you can tell us if – and when - Malfoy goes too far. We'll beat the crap right out of that git in no time."

She expelled a breath she wasn't aware she was holding back. "Thank you."

"Bloody Slytherins," said Ron, punching his right palm with his left fist. "If only it wouldn't warrant a lifetime at Azkaban I would've—"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Now that _she _wasn't the center of this conversation, she might as well pull some jabs of her own. "Oh come off it, Ron," she said, crossing her arms. "It's obvious that you don't think _all _Slytherins are bad."

He swung to confront her so suddenly she thought the momentum would make him fall on his face. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

She grinned. "I do believe you and Parkinson have had your share of time together, with or _without_ Snape's supervision."

At this, his face took on a bloodier color. Ron glanced at Harry. "We haven't—"

"And you—" Hermione said, swinging to the other. "Zabini's growing on you, isn't she?"

Harry looked startled. "She isn't—"

"You both don't have dates yet to the Ball, right? Then ask Zabini and Parkinson. I'm sure _they_ would jump at the chance to go with you!"

They both wore expressions like fishes stolen from water.

It was entertaining, really, to see them both gobble for air.

"Don't look at me like I'm mad," admonished Hermione. "I know you both like the palms of my hands. You know you want to take them but for each other's sake you're putting on some kind of pretense. Well it ends right now, and for crying out loud _take the girls out_!"

Silence.

"You—you don't mean that," said Ron in a small voice.

"You're just saying that because you don't want to be the only Gryffindor to go with a Slytherin," accused Harry bitterly.

Caught in her lie, Hermione said with a reluctant grin, "Yes. Yes I am."

Ron began to flap the neckline of his robe. "It's hot in here, don't you think?" he said in a pained voice. Taking the lead, he stepped out of the room.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and grinned.

"What?" snapped Ron once they were out of the room. "It _was _hot in there—"

"And what do we have here?" drawled a voice.

They stopped and glared at the intruder. "Nott," Hermione said evenly. Harry and Ron bristled at her sides.

Nott lifted his brow at her, then glanced at the room they just used. "Been having a tryst with your bosom buddies, haven't you Granger?"

Harry's lunge at him was prevented when Hermione placed a hand on his chest. "Don't!"

Nott stepped away from the wall and walked towards her, his eyes dark with foreboding and menace. "I don't know what Malfoy sees in you, but I'll definitely _be_ on the lookout." He lifted his hand, and just when he was an inch from touching her Hermione slapped his hand away. Nott curled his lip. "Tell your 'friend' I'll be on the lookout for him as well." And then he was gone.

She exhaled loudly, then stared at the departing figure of the Slytherin. Nott was… a different type of evil. His was the more disturbing one than Malfoy's. The more _threatening_ one. The one she was, admittedly, more frightened of.

"You see?" demanded Ron. He pointed at the direction Nott took. "You see what fraternizing with the enemy does to you?"

"That's nothing," she said. "I won't make much of what he said. He's all talk, Ron."

"But still--"

"I have to go," said Hermione. Without another word, she ran towards the Head Boy room, stopping only when she reached the portrait hanging before it.

"Hark! Who goes there?" The knight pushed up his metal helmet and glared at her. "Who dares brave the abode of my lord?"

Hermione looked around her, and immediately felt annoyed at the curious (and totally loud!) looks she was receiving from the students who saw _her _standing before Malfoy's room. "Tell your 'lord' Hermione Granger's here, and—"

She hadn't even finished her sentence before the portrait opened and she was permitted to enter. "Thank you."

The room was a mute shade of greens and whites, the perfect blend for a Slytherin occupant. It looked cold and silent, and apart from the roaring flames in the fireplace nothing was moving. "Malfoy?" she called, taking in her surroundings. _Where is he_? "Malf—"

Something was tapping the glass on the window at the far side of the room. Hermione hesitated, then went to investigate. Outside she found an owl with a letter in its beak. Then she started; it wasn't _just _a letter.

It was a howler.

She opened the window and the owl came soaring in; landing outlandishly atop Malfoy's sofa. The bird knew she wasn't the recipient of the letter as it hopped away from her every time she attempted to get near it.

Curiosity was burning inside Hermione. _Who sent that howler? His father? But… why? Why would—_

"Oswald!" boomed Malfoy's voice. Hermione looked just in time to see him emerge from the door. He glanced at her, and his lips tightened.

As if asked to provide an explanation for her presence she said, "We have that speech to work on, remember?"

"I do." His voice was hard, and he headed towards the owl. The bird hopped towards him, dropped the parcel on his palms, flapped its wings, then zoomed towards the window, nearly hitting her face as it did.

Hermione bit her lip, then closed the window. She slowly turned and saw that Malfoy still had the howler enclosed in his fingers. "Do you…" she started, "do you want me to leave?"

Malfoy shook his head, and without another word determinedly pulled the ribbon holding the howler together. It jumped from his hands and began to fleet through the air, and in a crystalline voice a woman spoke:

_'Draco my son, is this true? Word has it that you… and that Muggleborn girl… oh, I shudder to even think of an appropriate term for you both. We've been informed that you even have plans on taking her for the Graduation Ball… and what about dear sweet Pansy, Draco? You're choosing a person of lower status than a Parkinson? Such nonsense, my son! You'll be the laughingstock of the entire wizarding community! Your father and I, we require your answers and we will wait for them today. We must have your word that you will not take her. Do we make ourselves clear? Cut whatever game you have with this girl, and DO NOT TAKE HER TO THE BALL WITH YOU!'_

And the howler was abruptly torn into pieces, went aflame.

Hermione didn't dare break the silence as she stared at Malfoy. His mother's words rang in her ears: _Do not take her with you! A person of lower status than a Parkinson, such nonsense! _She swallowed hard, and tears burned in her eyes. It was times like this that she _hated _discrimination. What was wrong with a _witch _like her – who earned the highest marks in her year, mind you – to go with a wizard like Malfoy? There was nothing wrong with it, nothing at all!

Then she blinked. _Why, of course there're lots of things wrong with it! He's Pureblood; I'm Muggleborn. He's Slytherin; I'm Gryffindor. And then there's—_

"So," Malfoy spoke, shattering her reverie, "let's get started." His voice booked no argument, and the smile on his lips was more forced than ever.

He was silently commanding her not to mention the incident, but curiosity got the better of her. "Do you think…" Her voice wavered when he glared at her, but she continued, "Is it still a good idea to go with me to the Ball? Your parents are obviously against it. Maybe… maybe—"

"My parents won't have any say in the matter," he told her in steely tones. "I take whoever I please, even if it doesn't please them."

"But—"

"Look, Granger. Would you rather talk about this than do that damned speech? Because if you do, stay here – I'll be better off doing the speech somewhere else, _on my own_, anyway."

She bristled. "Fine," Hermione said. "Fine. Let's do that damned speech."

Malfoy's face relaxed, and finally a smile dawned on it again. This time, it was anything _but_ fake. "I'm glad you see things my way." He pointed at the table, where sets of quills and high stacks of paper were placed. "Shall we?"

She walked towards the table without preamble. Picking up a quill and a piece of paper Hermione slumped on the sofa and began to scribble.

He did the same. "By the way, Granger – don't forget to let me see what you're writing. I wouldn't want us to sound bizarre and stupid and, you know, like Weasley…" Malfoy said sweetly.

Hermione lowered her paper and flashed him a bare-all-teeth-and-no-it's-not-a-real-smile-by-the-way kind of smile. "You're just _so _amusing."

"Why thank you." He did a mock bow. "But I do mean it."

"Whatever." She continued scribbling, and after a few minutes remembered the encounter she had with another of his kind. "Malfoy…"

He stopped and looked at her, both his brows lifted.

_Should I really tell him? _"Malfoy, did you… um… did you and Nott…?"

"What did he do to you?" His face was blank as he spoke.

Hermione instantly regretted having opened her mouth. Reluctantly, she continued, "Nothing. It's just that… earlier he told me to watch my back because of…"

"Because of…? _Tell me._"

She shifted uncomfortably. "He really didn't say, but…" Hermione stared at him. "He said _you_ should watch your back as well."

Malfoy didn't say anything, and at his silence she felt even more uncomfortable. "Forget I said anything, all right? It was probably nothing. Idle threats, that's all."

"Don't be foolish," he snapped. "We're _Slytherins_, Granger. There's no such thing as an _idle threat _to us."

"But—"

"How are you doing with your speech?" he asked calmly.

Hermione looked down at her paper. _Doodle! _it shouted at her. Just full of squiggly marks and lines – she wasn't really writing earlier. She was just _pretending_ to write. "I'm not happy with it," she said, crumpling it into a tight ball. "How about yours?"

Malfoy gave her a lazy smile and crumpled his paper as well. "I wasn't happy with it either." He halfheartedly threw it, and the ball rolled to her feet.

With a swift motion she picked it up, and with a large smile she tried to unfold it. Hermione would've been successful, hadn't it because of—"Oomf!" she muttered, her lungs crushed by the weight on her chest.

His face loomed before hers. "Give it to me."

"You're—you tackled me!"

"Give me the ball, Granger."

Despite her _very uncomfortable _position of being pinned down on her back, Hermione found out she was having fun teasing him like this. _Gasp! Shock! Horror! _"Let me go," she told him evenly, "and you could have your ball."

"Give me the ball," he returned, "and I'll let you go."

She immediately tightened her hold on the crumpled paper. "Your call, Malfoy."

"No. Yours, Granger."

His fingers started crawling towards her hand, and she squealed and squirmed hard, resulting to them rolling down the sofa and onto the floor. Hermione didn't waste any time; she hastened to her feet and opened the paper.

Like hers, it was full of doodles. Apparently, _she _wasn't the only one without the inspiration to write anything that day. "Ha!" she said, proudly displaying her conquest. "Is _this _what you call a speech?"

He stood up and proceeded to dust himself off. "No it isn't," he agreed. "But I suppose _yours _is so much better…"

Hermione gasped. "No! Don't! That's—"

Too late.

Malfoy raised his brow. "Huh. I can tell you have a knack for self-portrait, Her-mi-o-ne…"

"That's my cat, you git."

"Well," he drawled, "you didn't do it any justice. Or does it really look this ugly?"

"Shut up." Hermione dusted herself off as well. "I'm leaving. We're not making any progress, anyway." She headed towards the door.

"What," Malfoy said, spreading his arms wide, "no kiss?"

In response, Hermione threw his ball at him where it hit him square on the forehead.

She was in very high spirits throughout the day, and she even had enough patience to not hex the sense out of anyone who dared tell her, '_I think it's soooo wonderful that you and Malfoy are soooo in love with each other!_' Not that there was any sense in them to begin with, anyway.

As evening came, Hermione was early to go to her room and rest. She was going to work on that speech even if it killed her, just to show Malfoy she was… well, _better_.

Hours and three pages of long paragraphs later, Hermione heard scratches outside her room. She shrugged, thinking the Hogwarts ghosts were onto something again. Peeves, most probably.

Then the portrait hanging just above her dresser started screaming.

"O miss! O miss! Quickly, a lad lies outside, dying! O miss! O miss!"

Hermione quickly shot up and opened her door, ignoring the fact that she was dressed for sleep and was, in fact, only clad in her nightgown.

"Mistress!" the damsel on her portrait cried. "Oh, it was horrible, what those boys did to—"

"Oh Lord," Hermione cried, rushing towards a figure crumpled at the floor. "Oh, God."

It was Malfoy.

And he was bloodied and bruised all over.

-

**Author's Notes:** And there ends chapter 10… hehe! Thank you very much for all the support this fic's been getting from you all! I love you guys! Group glomp! –-squeals—

Anyways, next chapter will explain your incoming 'what the hell happened to Draco you mean author you!' questions, okay? :) Dun-dun-dun-dun…


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Divine Humiliation**

He was in pain. So much pain. Like shards of crystals were cutting through his delicate skin, searing his soft flesh as only thousands of lightning spears could. Dimly, he could hear the roaring of the sea, then realized it was the rush of his blood as his ears pounded and his heart burst with sinister rhythm, and in terrible shame he wrung out his hands and cried to heaven, "Why oh why does it have to be me, cruel, careless universe!I am an innocent soul… you will be punished… you'll see…" And then he added, in a low voice, "Mmm. Metaphors. Marvelous. Might be useful… for next… chapter…"

He continuously regained and lost consciousness, and in those instances of alertness he could see splashes of cream around him. In his sleep his memory would work wonders to evoke the lovely images that gripped him: how he rode his first broom, how he was sorted into Slytherin, how he continuously made Potter's life a living hell (bwahahaha!), how a martyr with pure heart and tender soul like him was _slowly mauled to death…_

_I can't die! I'm too young to die! Bloody bastards, I won't allow you to kill me!_

At that last thought, Draco let out a manly shriek and awoke from the pictures of the bloody bastards that got their kicks out of kicking him.

He shut his eyes and held his arms over his head, acting on instinct to shield himself. The weight on the bed shifted, and something cool and wet was pressed on his face.

"Malfoy?"

He knew that voice. Desperately clinging to that thought, Draco opened his eyes. _I can't see! _he thought, fear terrorizing him for a moment. _Oh my God I'm blind! The bloody bastards got my eyes! _

Then a towel was removed from his eyes, and he could see again.

"Granger." Her name came out like a long wheeze. He still had difficulty breathing, with the panic attack and all... "Stupid girl, you frightened me half to death!"

She blinked. The towel on her hand was squeezed so tightly water beaded and rolled off her skin. "I frightened _you?_" Her voice was nothing but a squeak. "_I _frightened you?"

He winced. He couldn't help it; his body was aching, and now Granger was hurting the only part of him that wasn't. "Don't be so melodramatic," he snapped. "You're bruising my delicately fragile ears, you twisted little—"

Granger pointed a trembling finger at his face. "_You _came to my door all bloodied and beaten up and _you dare say I _frightened _you?_"

"There's no need to be repetitive," he snapped. Again.

For a moment she could only gape at him, undoubtedly rendered speechless by his antics.

A warm glow suffused Draco; even at his unfortunate state he could still be an incorrigible bastard, which meant that his mental faculties were intact and, in fact, spared from the physical trauma he'd undergone.

_Aha!_

_Take that, cruel, careless universe! You may take down this body but not this ingenious mind! _

Granger was _still_ gaping at him.

"Come now, woman," he said in alarm. "I know I could make girls speechless but, see, you've been staring at me like that for over a minute and… mind the legs, I don't want you drooling over them…"

She abruptly closed her mouth. Then threw the towel at his face. "Clean yourself up," came her dry, brittle voice.

Draco looked at the cloth in his hands, and noted that it had bloodstains already. Then he noticed that he had bandages on his arms, his torso, and even had something plastered on the side of his head. "Granger," he said evenly, "did you patch me up?"

"What, you think those bandages just stuck to you because of your oh-so-magnetic personality?"

He raised his brow. "My, a bit sarcastic, aren't we." Draco placed the towel aside, then sighed. "You're _a _valedictorian, correct?"

She pursed her lips. Granger looked ready to slug something.

He took that as an answer. "And you're supposed to be, what, one of the _two_ cleverest in our class?"

She looked ready to slug him.

He didn't let that hinder him from making his point. "So, didn't it ever occur to you that you could've just, say, cast a healing spell on me?"

_Now _she looked ready to slug herself. "_Oh._"

"Oh," he mimicked.

Granger glared at him. "I panicked, all right!" she said, waving her hands like a maniac. "When I saw you lying like that I thought you were dying… and I, well, frankly I wasn't thinking straight because of all the blood, and, and…"

"And…?"

Her face was flushed, he noted with glee. Yes, Draco Malfoy could still be an evil bastard despite all his injuries. "You evil bastard!" she cackled, confirming his thoughts. "Is this how you thank me, after everything I did for you? Why you should be—"

His voice was leveled as he said, "You could've just rushed me to the infirmary. I reckon Madame Pomfrey would be happy to heal me because, you know, dried old woman, fresh young boy's body, if you get my drift—"

"You're disgusting," she spat. "And I didn't, so deal with it. And _don't_ be presumptuous because I _won't _heal you, you horrible prat. I was about to, but because you're such a vile, demented thing why I ought to let you—"

In the middle of the beautiful poetry she was spouting a sudden pain shot up his side and his face contorted. He released an unmanly cry that he would no doubt regret in the future. But it was worth it, for she stopped mid-sentence and rushed at him, her hands warm and soothing on his skin. "Lie still," she ordered in brisk tones. "Don't move too much, your wounds are still fresh and—"

"Wand," he said through gritted teeth. Damn it, his ribs hurt like hell! "Heal—"

"I—" She bit her lip. "Try to sleep, all right? I'll see what I can do."

And then gentle hands moved around his face, and something light and soft was pressed to his brow and he was drifting to sleep again.

A short time later, he awoke to find himself still in miserable pain. His pain-filled eyelids opened to find a moving creature – Granger – surrounded with books.

For a stunned moment, he could only stare at her.

She was reading! While he was dying! What the hell's wrong with her! "Granger—"

Funny how she moved so fast. She was at his side immediately. "What? What? What is it, what's wrong?"

"You haven't healed me." His voice was dark with accusation. "Are you deliberately making me endure this pain to satisfy some sadistic side of your nature? Because if you are—"

Her gaze sharpened. "I haven't found the appropriate spell to heal you. All the spells I found – they didn't say anything about… about injuries sustained from fighting and—"

"Give me my wand." Draco tried to lift himself to a sitting position, but he was too weak. "I'll heal myself."

She mumbled something incomprehensible, but sounded awfully like "don't" "have" "your" "wand".

"What?"

"I said I don't have your wand."

Damn his inhuman sense of hearing.

"_What_?"

"I _said—"_

"I heard what you said!"

"But you just asked me to—"

Bloody damn it all to bloody hell. Those bloody bastards, they bloody took his bloody wand!

Draco was short of giving into his inner Potter. Meaning he was about to have a spastic rage that would inevitably resort to him spouting off words in capital letters and punctuating them with three exclamation points that broke every goddamned rule in sentence construction.

"BLOODY DAMN IT ALL TO BLOODY—"

"Here," Granger said immediately, saving him from himself. "Have some soup."

And a spoonful of warm broth was savagely shoved into his mouth.

He coughed, the sticky liquid bouncing off his throat and lips. "Damn it, woman! Are you trying to murder me?" Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I am bloody _fragile_ here! Can't you understand, I cannot defend myself from your sadistic tendencies! I am wandless, defenseless… helpless! I'm like Potter without the bloody scar, or Weasel without the bloody hair! Oh Merlin, why didn't I just _die?_"

Cue the dramatic filling of his eyes and the cupping of his face in his palms. Sob, breathe, a little hiccup…

But Granger, damn her, proved to be a big pile of rock. "Cut it out, Malfoy. Your wounds are far from being fatal. But you could use that pillow to suffocate yourself, if you want," she said helpfully.

He gave her a glare that could make saints fall on their knees in homage. The least she could have done was to move in closer and offer that sloping shoulder of hers to cry on… maybe a comforting kiss or two…

Whoever said that Gryffindors were noble and kind should've died a very painful death for being such a vile liar. They were worse than Slytherins, which was saying something.

At least a Slytherin would've offered anything for a chance to be this close to him!

"So," she asked casually, placing the spoon inside the bowl on her lap, "who did this to you?"

He waited several moments to pass. "Where's the love, Granger?" Draco asked quietly.

"The _what?_"

"We were supposed to be lovers, you know," he pointed out. "So where're all your concern? The tears? The declaration, 'I'll search everywhere to make your tormentors pay, my love!'"

Two bright spots of pink blossomed on her face, and Draco had to smile at the discomfort he was bringing her. "We are _not _lovers so I'm not— I shouldn't—" Then her eyes widened, and he could almost see a light bulb flash above her head. "You're evading the question."

"Which was?"

"Who did this to you?" She looked frustrated.

"Are you going to make them pay?"

"I'll probably thank them," she snapped. "Then make them pay for not finishing you off."

Draco fished for her hand and clasped it tight. "My, what a delightfully concerned girlfriend I have. I suppose I should propose to you right this instant, then take you to my manor and make wild, passionate love to you on my bed." Huh. The image had its promise. He rubbed his thumb on her skin in slow, suggestive strokes, and winked charmingly.

Granger removed her hand from his, careful to not let the soup slosh at the sides. "Mal_foy_—"

"Did you heal me?" He noticed that his ribs didn't hurt that much. He awoke in pain, but now the pain was only a dull throb. It was still as uncomfortable as all hell but at _least _he could do without crying out for his mother.

Not that he _ever _wanted to cry out for his mother.

Umm…

"I performed some spells, and this soup's actually a potion. It should heal your internal injuries and you're being evasive again!"

"Granger—"

"Why won't you tell me?" she asked in a small voice.

"Because I know what you'd do afterwards."

"You d—"

"You'll go straight to Dumbledore and tell him what happened to me, and then what? I'll only disgrace myself, because I needed the Head Girl and the Headmaster for something _I_ should've been able to handle. And just _how_ do you think will that help the situation?"

She blinked at him, her mouth in a thin line. He could feel her desire to deny this statement but was unable to do so.

So, Draco was right in keeping her in the dark. Her knowing would only add insult to the injury for it was undoubtedly humiliating that _he_, of all people, would allow this to happen. What would she think of him, if she knew the truth? That _Draco Malfoy _was some low-life scum who couldn't defend himself well?

Granted, she might have already categorized him as such but still—

"It was Nott, wasn't it?"

"What made you think it was?"

"Because _he's_ the only one who threatened us with physical violence."

"I have many enemies," Draco declared a little defensively. "Who are you to assume I've only one? It could've been Longbottom. I set him up with Millicent, you know. Or Potter and Weasley. They've been dying to get my throat for years. Or that sniveling kid in third year—"

"_Damn it, Malfoy!"_

She yelled. _Really_ yelled. Any moment now his ears would bleed from all the yelling she'd done.

"This isn't a joke!" Granger said, beating the bed with both her balled fists. _The soup, _he thought frantically._ Where was the_— "Do you think this is something that should be taken lightly? You could've been killed! If I haven't found you, you might have bled to death! _You could've died, _damn you, and you're reducing this into some sort of sick, horrible prank!"

Her face was filled with angry blotches of red, her lips were trembling and her eyes were suspiciously full and—and—was she crying? _Hermione Granger crying _over his miserable plight? Impossible! Just – plain - _impossible!_

But as Draco watched her furiously rub her eyes on her sleeves, he realized, with a deep sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, that he actually _was _the reason why she was crying.

That she was crying because he was almost killed.

That she was crying because—

Wait a minute.

Did that mean _something_?

"Come now, Granger," he began in a hesitant tone, reaching out to her with a hand, "it wasn't like I was stabbed or anything— now don't get me wrong, I'm glad you care for me but—"

_"Care _for you?" At that, her eyes flashed angrily at him that for a moment he was afraid of her. Need he repeat that he was actually fragile, defenseless, helpless… "I _don't _care for you!" she cried hysterically.

And Draco felt as though he was doused with a bucketful of ice water. He assumed… no, he _hoped_ that— "Oh really?" he asked coldly, taking his hand away and balling it. "Then why are _you_ affected by the thought of my death?"

"Because—because I might be next."

And Draco thought _he _was the selfish one in this pairing.

"I'm so flattered by your concern for me," he told her, moving his legs down the side of the bed and forcing himself up. "Thank you for taking me to your room for a chance to see me undressed. However, I—"

"What are you _doing?_" Granger grabbed his arm and pulled it down. "You have to rest—"

"No thank you. I don't stay where I'm not—"

"Oh cut it out! Lie down or I'm going to—"

"Don't threaten me!" he snapped, fully angry now. Draco twisted his arm free from her hold, and with all the strength he could muster glared down at her, trying his damnedest to ignore the trail of tears staining her cheeks. "I don't need your services, so I don't want you to tell _me _what to do. I _don't_ need and I _don't_ want_ you_."

Her eyes were shooting sparks at him, but damn her, _she _was the reason for this whole mishap! Of all things Draco cherished in this world, it was his _pride _that he vowed he would solemnly protect. How dare this slip of a girl slap him with her _not caring the least bit about him!_ It was the last straw. He'd almost been mauled to death. The least she could've given him was her sympathy! Or some scrap of it!

"I'm going to ask you to _lie down _one last time or I swear to God I'm going to tell Dumbledore what happened to you."

_That _stopped him in his tracks. Draco turned towards her in silent fury, finding her stoic in her stance. "You wouldn't dare."

"After all I've done to you, do you honestly think I'm _not_ capable of pulling this one off?"

They engaged in a heated battle, both not wanting to lay back or retreat.

He could've happily strangled her for having the upper hand.

"You win." It pained him to say it, but some part of him admitted – even welcomed – defeat. If it meant lying on her bed, being tended to—"Don't get used to this," he growled, noticing the satisfied look on her face. "You can't win every damned time."

She nodded, a small smile on her lips as she assisted him

"I bet you just want to see me half-naked on your bed."

_That _effectively robbed her of the victory she so enjoyed. _Ha! _"Shut up."

"Care to join me?" He patted the space beside him.

Draco could actually _see _her efforts to restrain herself from hitting him. "You're disgusting."

He only smiled at that, and she turned her back on him and left the room.

His eyelids were drooping again, and just as he was midway to sleep Granger came in. "I talked to Flitwick earlier, while you were asleep," she announced, and Draco felt alarm bells ringing through him. Did she… "He said we don't have practice for the next few days so the professors would have enough time to prepare for the Ball."

"Is he mad?" Draco said, relieved that she didn't disclose his state to anyone. "I mean – the Ball's next week, and he's canceling practices?"

Granger shrugged. "He said we're good enough. And, anyway, in your condition do you think you can actually _dance?_"

"Wanna try?"

She rolled her eyes. "Rest, why don't you."

"Look for my wand, why don't I."

Granger huffed. "It'd be easier if you tell me what happened to you, you know. I can help you look for it."

"We've already discussed that—"

"I _won't _tell," she stressed.

"You may, or you may not. I wouldn't know. I don't trust you."

He caught the offended look that crossed her face. _Take that, _he thought. "I don't trust you either," she returned, "but that didn't stop me from taking care of you."

"You couldn't help it, anyway," he retorted, waving his hand. "You're so damn… _nice. _Why, I bet even if _Voldemort_ appeared wounded on your doorstep you'll still feel obligated to help him out."

"That's not true! What makes you think—"

He yawned, and the expression on her face softened. It was wonderful, he thought, to actually be in the care of another person, to have another person looking out for him. To be cherished, valued, treasured by a person other than himself.

Damn it. He was becoming sentimental!

"Just sleep, Malfoy. I'll talk to you later." She smoothened away stray hair from his eyes.

Draco was already drifting off as he added, "Stay with me?"

And he felt her hand twine with his. "I'm here," she whispered.

And he slept.

The next time he woke up, he had no notion of time. Draco had no idea how long he'd been asleep or how long he'd been alone, or if his presence was missed by anyone. Ignoring the throbbing of certain parts of his anatomy (no, not _there,_ thank you very much), he tried to get on his feet and walk. Remembering that he was half naked, he grabbed the sheet and placed it over him, then slowly resumed his journey towards the door.

"Granger?" he called loudly. "I'm going out." Draco flung the door open, thinking, if she tried to stop him—

Lo and behold.

"Mal—"

"—foy?"

Potter and Weasley stood at the doorway, Potter's hand drifting in mid-knock. They both wore dumbstruck expressions on their faces, looking like they've seen something bewildering. _They both look stupid, _Draco thought, not for the first, and certainly not for the last, time.

He frowned. What on _earth _could these two be gaping at?

He heeded the urge to clutch his sheet tighter, forming a protective cocoon around himself. Draco hoped to Merlin Potter and Weasley _weren't _staring at his exposed chest, because _that_ would just be really queer.

The idea made him feel quite molested as well.

"Malfoy!" came Granger's voice from her room. "Where are you? I still need to put this lotion on—" And suddenly she was standing beside him, returning Potter and Weasley's gape with her own.

The crackling tension among the Golden Trio was so palpable Draco could taste it in his mouth.

It wasn't as satisfying as it should've been.

"Her—"

"—mi—"

"—o—"

"—ne?"

_Really, syllabications are a thing of the past_, Draco reflected, grimacing.

"What's the matter, haven't seen a half-naked guy emerge from a girl's—"

_Oh._

_OH!_

So _that's _the reason the Gryffindors were looking at him and Granger like they were indecent and lewd. What else would Potter and Weasley get from the fact that here he was, half-naked and draped only in cloth, coming out of _her _room while she was saying something about lubricat— err, lotion?

Granger looked flustered as she rushed to say, "I can explain—"

"We've seen enough." Potter's eyes glinted beneath his glasses, and his face was screwed.

"Why?" said Weasley, adopting the look of a wounded weasel. "Why, Hermione, why?" Judging from the way his hands shook, he was ready to wring them out.

"Come on, Ron," snapped Potter, fixing Granger a disgusted look. And he turned on his heel.

"Harry, Ron, please! I—"

Granger stopped, her hand hanging in mid-air as if reaching out for her so-called friends. Her lips trembled, her face paled and —

"Wait!"

Surprisingly, Potter and Weasley stopped, then turned to look back at Draco and Granger.

Surprisingly, it wasn't _she_ who spoke.

Draco gritted his teeth and said, "It's not what you think. _This_," he gestured between him and Granger, "is not what you think."

So he had some knight-in-shining-armor-tendencies that only arose when the situation called for it.

Draco couldn't help it if he was born that way! So damn near _perfect_ he could've been—

"Oh really?" asked Weasley, hands balled to fists. "And why should we believe _you_?"

Potter's gaze was challenging enough without him having to speak at all.

Draco rose to that challenge with the gallantry of a king. "You shouldn't," he said easily. "But believe _her, _stupid oafs. Tell me, when had she ever deceived the two of you? Seemed as though of all the people who deserved your trust, it's _she _who should have it the most."

"Malfoy—" Granger placed a hand on his arm but he shrugged it off.

"And besides," he continued, emitting a brash chuckle, "do you honestly think I will touch _her_? You must be mad!"

And Draco felt her stiffen beside him.

Potter and Weasley looked at each other – probably conferencing through look alone if they should continue being imbeciles or not – before glancing their way. "Then why—why are you—" Reduced to nothing but gestures, a green-faced Weasley pointed at Draco's current state of undress.

"Don't you like it, Ron? I placed it on just for you," Draco said in a perfect imitation of Pansy.

Weasley's pallor actually _changed _color, from green to red.

"Malfoy—" said Potter threateningly.

"All right, all right. Spoilsport." Draco heaved a sigh, then stepped aside to gesture towards the room. "Fine. I will tell you everything. In there, lads."

Granger opened her mouth to speak, then shut it tight.

Potter and Weasley started moving in, but Draco placed a hand before them and said, "My only condition is that you have to call Blaise and Pansy. What I have to say concerns them." It didn't, really, but he needed the time to stall, to think if he should _really _do this—

"Why?" asked Potter.

"Because I want us all to be friends," snapped Draco, glaring at him. "Just call them, damn it, or what I have to say remains a mystery 'til the day I die."

"Which is, what, two minutes from now if you don't tell us what you have to say?" said Weasley.

Draco gritted his teeth. "Call them," he said, "or I'll tell Pansy that _you're _her mysterious suitor."

Weasley's mouth dropped open until his lower lip touched the floor. "Wha—abba—dabba—"

"Come on, Ron," said Potter, pulling a still incoherent Weasley behind him. They hurried off, suspiciously knowledgeable of where to find the girls.

Draco wrapped the cloth around him tighter, but thought better than wearing it like a dress. "My clothes, if you please," he said.

Granger nodded and headed deeper in her room, only to reappear seconds later with his robe on her hands.

"Thank you," he said, slipping out of the sheets and into the robe.

Damn, but it felt _good _to be robed again.

"How did you know?" she asked.

He glanced at her, finding her face curious and attentive. "About Weasley and Pansy? Please. I only know of one person cheap enough to give Pansy _muggle_ gifts."

Granger nodded, understanding and probably agreeing with him on the fact that Weasley was the poorest, cheapest bastard to ever grace their world.

Excluding Potter, that was.

Then, "Thank you," she said softly, not looking at him.

For a moment Draco was confused as to what she meant. Shouldn't _he _be the one thanking _her?_ For finding him, nursing him, caring for him?Then he remembered. "It's fine. I just—I didn't want them to get the wrong impression about us."

Granger nodded stiffly. "Yes, you _did_ sum up everything perfectly well."

Just then, Weasley, Potter, Pansy, and Blaise arrived, prohibiting Draco from inquiring about the sudden bitterness in Granger's voice as she spoke.

"What's this about?" asked Blaise loudly. "Is Granger ready to admit that she's in love with—Draco, my goodness!" She moved her gaze up and down his body in an uncomfortable manner that had both Granger and Potter frowning. "What happened to you? You just—disappeared."

"When did you last see me?"

"That was… I think yesterday. I haven't seen you this whole day, and well, I wondered—hey Pansy, didn't you just ask me this morning—Pansy? _Pansy?_"

They all looked at Pansy, who was chatting non-stop with Weasley. They seemed to exist in a world of their own, what with their ignorance on what was happening around them and all.

"PANSY!!!" Blaise shrieked.

"What?" asked Pansy, startled out of her wits.

"What? What?" Weasley parroted.

Potter looked impressed. "Good one, Blaise."

She batted her eyelashes prettily at him. "I've been learning from the best."

And they smiled at each other, apparently lost in their own world as well.

Draco had had enough. "For Merlin's sake, people! Can't we all concentrate on the most important subject at hand? _Me?_"

Pansy began tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. "What's this about, anyway, that you have to drag us all the way to—"

"I've been attacked," he stated dramatically.

Draco finally got the reaction he wanted: shock, pity, distress.

And also some reactions he wished he _hadn't_ seen: joy, glee, happiness.

He glared at Potter and Weasley, who weren't looking contrite at wishing Draco death and destruction.

"You were attacked?" asked Pansy, clutching Weasley's hand, then dropping it as if burned.

"When?" asked Blaise, stepping closer to Potter.

"I—" Draco glanced at Granger again, finding her looking distraught. "Yesterday. I was attacked yesterday."

"_Who _attacked you?" Blaise asked.

Now _this _part of the story would be the most difficult for them to swallow. "I can't tell you."

"What?" cried Granger. "What do you mean—"

"Why can't you tell us?" asked Blaise.

"Are you protecting them?" asked Pansy.

Weasley looked sick. "You Slytherins and your twisted sense of—"

"I can't tell you," said Draco, grimacing as he said it, "because I've been put under a spell by those bastards. I can only remember what they did to me but I can't tell anyone who they are."

Potter didn't speak for a moment, just looked at him through poor, maltreated eyes.

"But—but that's stupid," said Weasley stupidly. "I mean, I've never heard of a spell like—"

"I have," said Granger, speaking through thin lips. Her stare bore holes through Draco. "I read about that spell. It happened before, in 1900 when a witch named Martha—"

"Tell us what happened before you were attacked," said Potter.

Draco was a bit surprised about the vehemence in Potter's voice when he spoke. "I was on my way to the Hufflepuff Room – I heard they had an enchanted blanket able to show Quidditch Games—"

"—like a telly. Go on," urged Potter.

Draco had no idea what a telly was, so he ignored Potter. "So, yes, Quidditch Games. I intend to confiscate it, because as per our rulebook I can actually do that and claim it's prohibited on school grounds—"

"But it's not," Granger cut in.

He rolled his eyes. "Well, _they _don't know that. Anyway, I was about to get it, but damn it, McClelland was stupid enough to lose that Snitch during the third hour of the game and—"

"I know!" interjected Weasley. "Didn't he see it hovering in front of him? He could've just reached out and—"

"He could've won the Chudley Cannons the cup for this year, but he lost it so badly I doubt they'll ever let him play again," contributed Potter.

Draco nodded. "The bastard deserves it, anyway. But who will they get in place of McClelland? Tullen?"

Potter shook his head. "He's too fat."

Weasley chuckled. "He'll probably land on his arse before he gets off the—"

"AHEM!" said Granger. "I do believe we were in the middle of something _else_ before Quidditch?"

Draco, Potter, and Weasley exchanged glances, as though they could never quite believe they _had _a semi-civil conversation with each other. "So, yes, as I was saying – I came out from the Hufflepuff Room carrying that blanket and… I got attacked."

"Don't you think their primary motive was to steal the blanket from you? Because when I saw you, the blanket wasn't anywhere in sight."

"You saw him the night he was attacked?" inquired Weasley.

Granger hesitated, then nodded. "I did."

"That's the reason I'm in here, half-naked and all," said Draco. "She helped me. She _healed _me. _That's _what happened between us."

His reward for this was the disappearance of distrust on Potter and Weasley's faces as they looked at Granger, as well as the rush of relief on her face as she smiled.

"I… I don't believe it," said Pansy in a trembling voice.

Draco nodded. "I know. Horrible, isn't it, that someone would actually want to—"

Pansy shook her head. "No, no. I mean I don't believe you'd—" She pointed a finger at him. "You're lying."

"What?" said Granger. "Why are you accusing him of lying? Didn't he just say—"

"Oh quit defending him, he isn't worth it," said Pansy, glaring at Draco. "You're lying," she repeated.

"Pansy—"

"You used the _exact same reasoning _on me two years ago, don't you remember? You told me something about that curse causing a permanent blocking of the memory and, and—well, I don't really remember the specifics but what I _do _remember is that when I was finally on to you, you admitted that that spell doesn't exist anymore because no one knows how to cast it nowadays." She raised her chin. "Deny it. Go on, then, I dare you. Tell me – tell _us_ – that you're saying the truth this time."

Weasley looked impressed. "_Wow._"

Damn it. He actually forgot about Pansy knowing all his tricks. What was he thinking, inviting her over! He shrugged. "Well, it was worth a shot, to get you all off my back." Draco glanced at Granger – she looked pale, and based from the way her knuckles whitened she wanted to slug him again. "All right, fine. Nott and his cronies beat me up. Satisfied?"

"Very," said Potter and Weasley at the same time.

"Nott?" Blaise repeated, blinking. "As in _Theodore _Nott?"

"Do you know any other Nott studying in Hogwarts?" Draco shot back.

"But… why?"

Draco shrugged again. "Something about the bet—" he risked a look at Granger again—"we did before where he lost. He was itching to get revenge on me, and he did so yesterday."

Weasley looked wistful. "A pity they didn't finish you off."

"Could've done us all a favor," added Potter.

"Or saved someone from murdering you in the future," Weasley stated.

"Maybe the reason I'm still alive is because I'm destined to kick _your_ arses to kingdom come," Draco snapped. "Bastards."

"So what're you going to do now?" asked Pansy.

"Well, one thing he _won't _do is tell Dumbledore, that's for sure," said Granger in a sour tone.

"_Granger_—"

"Right," said Weasley, nodding. "Because that'll just rob you of a chance to get your vengeance on Nott."

Draco looked at him in surprise. That was _precisely _the reason why he didn't want Dumbledore to know! "Well, Weasley, that's—"

"—stupid," reiterated Granger. "_Very _stupid idea indeed. I mean, what is it about asking someone else for help that drives men up the wall? It also takes strength to admit one is weak, you know."

He glared at her. "I'm _not _weak. How dare you accuse me of being weak!"

Blaise nudged Potter gently. "See, I told these two are in lov—"

"SHUT UP!!!" Draco and Granger said in unison.

Pansy pursed her lips. "You still haven't told us what you've got planned for Nott, Draco."

"I haven't thought of one yet," he answered truthfully, "but I swear on my last breath that he won't get away with this."

"So basically you just had us all gathered here for nothing," said Potter mockingly, wearing a mocking smile on his mocking face. "You've got no plan, no scheme, no—"

Insulted, Draco turned his glacial glare on the annoying bastard. "Don't be too complacent," he said savagely. "You see, Nott didn't only threaten me, but he also threatened _her_." He pointed at Granger. "And since he already carried out his threat on me—"

Potter and Weasley straightened themselves, sending alarmed looks at each other, then at Granger.

"Great," said Granger bitterly. "Now you've just given me two bloody guards."

"It's for your own safety," Draco told her. "_I_ won't let any harm get to you." He gestured at Potter and Weasley. "As for them, well, one can only hope they get beaten up in the process, but—"

"Hey!" shrieked Pansy and Blaise at the same time.

"We have got to do something about this," proposed Weasley. "Technically, Gryffindors owed Nott a lot for doing something most of us were _dying _to do for the last seven years but—"

"Your point?" snapped Draco.

"Ro—I mean, Weasley's right," Pansy said, reddening a bit. "Nott should be punished for doing this to you, Draco."

"We also have to make sure he wouldn't hurt Hermione," added Potter, sending Granger a concerned look. "_That's _more important than petty revenge."

Draco rubbed his chin, silently agreeing with Potter on that one. "I know you're all visualizing Nott in a bloody tangled mess, and believe me I want nothing less than that, but as of now I've got no clue as to how to get the bloody bastard."

"Then you're in luck," said Blaise, grinning. "Because _I _have a plan."

-

**Author's Notes: **waves hand timidly in the air Umm… hi, guys! Hopefully you haven't sharpened your knives and hunting gears yet… ;) Anyways, thank you for reading and reviewing – I've had a very tough month, what with the final exams and all – but hearing you enjoy my stuff really takes the stress off me. So… thanks! And I'll see you next chapter! And have a Merry Christmas and a blessed New Year, in case I won't be able to post anything new by then ;p

Oh, and readers of _Sanctuary in Potions, _do be on the lookout – the fifth installment's nearly done as well :)


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Divine Humiliation**

_…something completely different comes this way again…_

"What are we going to do, again?"

Harry scowled at Ron. "It's a bit simple, really. Blaise and I will do that spell with—" He leaned to whisper something in Ron's ear. "Then you and Parkinson will—" More whispers. "And last, with Nott… well, you _know_… Malfoy and Hermione will do—" Whispers. "There. That's the plan." He grinned, completely satisfied with himself. "Brilliant, isn't it."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh come off it, Harry. Just because _Zabini_ came up with that plan doesn't mean it's—"

"Yes?" Harry said, a bit testy.

"Nothing." Ron glanced at the empty hallway, saw Snape slinking to one corner, frowned, and then turned to Harry. "Remind me not to get on her bad side, all right? That girl's a bit scary."

"I say she's brilliant."

Ron snorted. "And I say you're redundant."

Harry quickly shot back with, "And _I _say Parkinson's—"

"Yes?" Ron said, a bit crossly.

The door opened, causing both boys to stand straighter and cease their chatting.

"Morning, Hermione," greeted Harry, sending Ron a look that said: _she's in one of her moods again._

"Lovely morning isn't it," said Ron, acknowledging the look with a nod and moving away from the wall. "All bright and sunshiny and warm—"

Hermione closed the door behind her with a huff. "Easy for you to say," she said, glaring at them. "You don't have two friends flanking your feet every hour of every day for the last _five_ days!"

"We're not flanking your feet," denied Harry immediately. He shot Ron a look.

"Harry's right, Hermione. We're… merely here to… you know, watch your movements."

She turned wary eyes on Ron. "Because I'm _so _incapable of watching them myself?"

"Ye—no! No! Ow, Harry, that hurt!" said Ron, rubbing the spot on his arm where Harry elbowed him.

"Why thank _you _Ronald. You're just too sweet," Hermione pushed the words through clenched teeth. Honestly, this was getting tiresome. Contrary to popular belief she _didn't _need these two boys by her side at all times! Aside from the embarrassment it caused – imagine having two bodyguards outside the girls' bathroom whenever she needed to use it! – Hermione also thought how guarding her completely disrupted their routines. But were Harry and Ron even bothered by it? _Nooo_. She inwardly believed they rather _enjoyed_ their roles immensely. _Thank you, Malfoy, for bringing out their protector-of-the-innocent complex, _she thought darkly, clenching her fists. She never really _did _enjoy the damsel-in-distress character she was forced to assume because first, she was _not _helpless, and second— she was no freakin' damsel! _Oh, if only I could knock some sense into three thickheaded— _

"So, Hermione…" Harry gave her a wolfish smile, clearly steering the conversation to a safer topic, "what do _you _say about the plan? Isn't it—"

"Brilliant?" Ron cut in, mimicking Harry's voice. He then snorted when Harry aimed at him a deadly glare. "Right, like that _wasn't _what you're going to say."

"It's a fine plan, I guess," answered Hermione, leading the way towards the Great Hall. "It'll have to do since _we_ haven't thought of one."

"Remind me why we have to do this, again," said Ron, looking eager as he spoke.

"Well—"

But Ron didn't wait for Harry to continue. "You know what I think? I think it's a bit, oh I don't know, _insane_, that we get to go with a Slytherin's scheme. I mean, what do we know? We're talking about Malfoy here: Slytherin git, certified bastard, pain in our collective—"

"Get to the point," snapped Hermione.

"How do we know he's not just using us to get Nott?"

"Blaise and Parkinson's included in this as well," retorted Harry, frowning as he looked at Ron. "Are you saying that Malfoy's also using _them_?"

"Well—" In this, Ron lost some of his confidence. "What if—what if this is some elaborate plan of theirs to make fools out of us, huh? Ever thought of that?"

Hermione's hand wobbled just as she was reaching for the door. She sent Ron a sharp look – he had just unknowingly voiced out her biggest fear.

_What if everything I've seen and heard is part of a prank intended to ruin me for good? _She couldn't help hearing her voice – her practical, intelligent voice – holler the words over and over again. Hermione had thought of all the scenarios that gave her cause to doubt Malfoy; after all, she had every right in the world to be wary of him. How many times had he used that innocent, needing look of his to make her fall into his scheme? And fall she did. He'd done it before. How could she be sure he wasn't fooling her with this one as well?

_The wounds, _she thought, wincing as she did. _They're—they're real. _And no, none of that pathetic cutting-myself-because-I-want-to-feel-and-I'm-addicted-to-seeing-myself-bleeding crap. Hermione had seen for herself that the wounds she treated weren't caused by anything sharp or jagged. They were the results of a severe beating, and she doubted Malfoy was _that _desperate to have him employ his cronies to beat the hell out of him just for the sake of petty revenge.

_It must be real. All of it. He must be telling the truth._

"Then we just have to prepare for that," she said easily, her voice betraying none of her inner turmoil. _And _I_ will._

Inside the Great Hall, Draco drummed his fingers against the table, scowling darkly at the pile of food in front of him. His eyes strayed towards the Gryffindor table – and upon seeing that the object of his search was nowhere to be found, he pushed his plate away, and waited.

And waited.

And… waited.

_WHERE IS SHE!!!_ wailed his overdramatic inner Potter.

"Draco?"

Pansy almost jumped when he fixed on her a look of pure menace. She exchanged glances with Blaise, who was looking down at Draco with amusement on her face.

"In one of your psychotic moods again, I see."

He glared at Blaise. "What?"

"We're leaving," Pansy said, covering for Blaise's outburst. How she hated it when Draco was in this sort of temper! He'd be so irritable and angry and that look on his face expressed his fierce desire to burn everything in his path _and_ kill anyone who dare thwart him from doing it. Of all the faces of Draco Malfoy that existed – and she knew _plenty _did - Psychotic!Draco was the one she liked the least.

"Then leave."

"But… you're alone."

A glance around the Slytherin table proved it.

"I'm fine. Just go."

"You know…" Blaise placed a hand on his shoulder, "there's no need to be all two-words-then-period with us. Don't worry, Draco. She's fine. Harry and Weasley are doing their part in this. They're guarding her."

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Too much, I'll say."

"You're just jealous," sneered Blaise.

"Back off, Zabini," Pansy spat, shooting her a murderous look.

"Yep," said Blaise cheerfully, "she's jealous."

"I'll wait," Draco snapped, still drumming his fingers soundly on the table. "Leave me."

"Remember the part where I said 'two-words-then-period'?" Blaise pointed at his face. "Doing it again!"

"Are you sure?" asked Pansy. "I mean, if you want—"

Draco glared at her. "Don't be concerned. You're a Slytherin, for Merlin's sake – you shouldn't exhibit any type of emotion."

"HA!!!" Blaise started heatedly, earning surprised looks from Draco and Pansy. "That's _just_ the stereotype I despise the most!!! I mean, Slytherins or not _we _have feelings, and—"

"Come _on _Blaise, let's go!"

"—how dare _people _out there categorize us as having no feelings whatsoever!!! Of all the hypocritical, biased, _unfair_—"

And Pansy all but dragged a sputtering Blaise out of the Great Hall.

He didn't want to admit it, didn't want to acknowledge Blaise's words, but in truth he _was_ a bit… nervous. The plan was already in progress – hell, it took them five days to prepare for it, mostly for the potion they brewed – but they haven't covered all the possibilities yet. Even if the plan was relatively simple, something could still go wrong — and working with incompetent buffoons like Potter and Weasley _would_ guarantee it! And _that's _why he was nervous, for if the plan was to fail then—

A familiar bushiness appeared on the door, and Draco almost sighed in relief – until he realized that she was alone.

_ALONE_. A word that, by definition, wasn't something he'd like to use to describe her.

He pushed himself up and strode towards her.

"Where are the incompetent buffoons?" he demanded, scrutinizing her looks in the process. No, she didn't seem hurt or dragged into someplace or anything—

That appeased him.

Hermione blinked, startled by his sudden appearance. "The—what?"

Impatience colored his tone as he said, "Potter and Weasley, Granger. Didn't I tell them to—"

"Oh. Oh!" She glared at him readily. "To start off, they're _not_ incompetent buffoons and how dare you—"

"Where're they?"

"We met Parkinson and Zabini on the way," she answered, walking towards the Gryffindor table. "I told Harry and Ron to go with them since they all seemed eager to get this thing done and over with." Not to mention her friends suddenly came up with lame excuses to leave her side and join the Slytherins, but she wasn't telling him _that_. "I'm here, I'm safe, now go away."

She took her usual seat at the near-empty Gryffindor table, and expected Draco to leave her side immediately – but to her horror she found him claiming Ron's place beside her. "Wha—what're you doing?" she whispered.

Ignoring the curious stares they were receiving – mostly from the nosier, womanly half of the Hogwarts population – Draco shrugged and reached for an apple. "Isn't it obvious? I'm eating."

"_Here_?" Hermione felt her cheeks redden. Yes, she _was_ painfullyaware that everyone knew them to be a couple, but—"Do you have to eat here?" she elaborated, taking some fruits and piling them high on her plate. "Isn't this against your principles? Doesn't this _degrade_ you in some way?"

Draco nodded curtly – three times - irking her more with his silence. Taking his wand out, he pointed it at the Slytherin table and made his food float towards him. "What's the matter?" he asked, reaching out to keep her mug from overflowing. She was too busy gawking at his actions that she'd forgotten she was pouring pumpkin juice for herself. "We ate together before."

Hermione could only remember too vividly. "But—"

"You should eat as much as you can, you know. You'll need your energy for you-know-what."

"The—" Oh, yes. The _plan. _"Right."

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she felt self-conscious and ill at ease with what she was doing, but thanks to Draco _sodding _Malfoy – she was experiencing it. There was just something… _wrong_… with him sitting beside her and doing something normal like _eating_. And damn it, she couldn't help herself: she watched him. As he moved, as he ate, as he sat there perfectly content and quiet while _he _wreaked havoc on her senses at the same time—

It took all her strength not to pin his hand to the table with her fork.

Draco could feel the tension draining away from him, and even his appetite returned to normal. He kept himself from glancing at her – the tattletale way she was holding her fork meant she was imagining dreadful things she could do to him with it – and instead busied himself with eating. He didn't care that he was causing another ruckus with what he pulled off; at least _this_ one would keep the gossip centered on _him_.

After all, _he_ wasn't one to deny himself the pleasure of being on the spotlight. _Brilliant, Draco! A few more like this one and by tomorrow no one will even remember that one Harry sodding Potter existed in this school._ He rubbed his hands in anticipation._ So, what's next, huh? Hmm… snog-a-thon, perhaps? Wonder if Granger's up for it… _

As he was to blurt out his intention, he looked up – and surprise, surprise, Draco saw Nott striding in, curiously alone.

He was about to tell Hermione that, but from the way she grabbed his arm he knew she already spotted their common enemy.

And just as quickly, she withdrew her hand. "Sorry," she mumbled.

It was at this point that Nott found them, a smile on his sickeningly ugly face as he strutted towards them. "Well, well, well," he said loudly, lifting a foot and stepping on one of the Gryffindor seats, "here we have the Golden Couple. I'm surprised you two aren't yet attached at the hip, with the time you spend together – both in and out of the bedroom."

Hermione could just _hear _the chairs scoot closer to them. It took a lot to control the blush that she could feel creeping on every part of her body, and to keep her eyes firmly glued at Nott.

The ponce fixed Draco a meaningful look. "How've you been lately, Draco? You seem … a bit pale for the last few days. Something you encountered along the way, perhaps?"

Draco smirked in response. He knew – and Nott also knew – that he couldn't publicly admit his recent beating. It was a pride thing, pure and simple. "I'm feeling very well, thank you," he replied, taking Hermione's hand and squeezing it. The rigid way her fingers responded told him she was surprised at this stunt. "I've no troubles whatsoever, since I asked my _darling _Hermione's help with the last one. We've already fixed it."

"Did you, now?" Nott asked, smiling nastily. "Did you really?"

Hermione couldn't help the amount of bitter loathing she felt for this vile being. "Do you have something _else_ you need from us, Theodore?" she asked, her voice saccharine-sweet. "We were just eating. Perhaps you'd care to join us?"

Nott glared at her, before mouthing, "Mudblood."

Hermione's laughter rang loud and clear, a stark noise in the suddenly silent atmosphere of the Great Hall. "No sense of originality, I see."

Draco grinned. "I'm afraid he has none, ever since." He stood and patted Nott's shoulder. "Pray, Theodore. Pray _very_ hard and maybe someday you'll grow a pair."

"Or a spine," Hermione added cheerfully, raising her voice a bit for the benefit of those listening. "But, you know, it might be too late for _that_."

More than a few students snickered.

Nott all but hissed at them before slinking away.

"Bastard," she muttered, glaring at his back.

"Well," said Draco, easing on his chair and into a lighter mood, "that was fun. As Salazar would say, 'nothing perks a day faster than making someone's morning a living hell'."

She raised a brow at him. "Slytherin motto?"

He coughed. "Slytherin mandate, actually."

Hermione grinned. "Huh," she muttered. And her demeanor turned serious. "So, did you—"

"I did," said Draco. "He'd definitely be a good, obedient boy and taking a trip to the Forbidden Forest later this afternoon. And, if I have my say – which I always do – it'll be his last."

"You're a vicious, cold-blooded, nasty—"

"Yes, Hermione. I love you too."

And the way she attacked the fruit on her plate with her fork made him think she was thinking it was him she was attacking.

_Ah yes, _he thought brightly. _Salazar would've been proud. _

Pansy and Ron bid their goodbyes to Blaise and Harry and made a slow progress towards the dungeons. Snape intercepted them on the hallway and requested – _ordered_, Ron thought in disgust - for last minute adjustments to the potion they were making. The oily git allowed no rooms for excuses, and demanded their presence immediately.

Ron still despised the professor with all his being, and would _pay_ with his last Knut to see him gutted in public, but at that moment he felt nothing but gratitude towards him. Gratitude – because, after all, time alone was what he really needed to do… his _thing_.

"So," he started, shoving his hands in his pockets, "the ball is in three days, huh."

She fixed him a look. "So?"

"Well…" He chuckled, and then halted. "It's funny, because the Ball's… the Ball's in three days."

Pansy noticed that, as usual, he was red in the face. It would've been fetching, really, if the poor boy only knew how to express himself. "Get to the point, Weasley."

"Do you, uhh—" At this point, he shuffled his feet. "Do you… well, what I mean to say is, do you—"

_Just say it already! _"Do I what?" she asked, trying hard not to sound too interested. Or too hopeful.

"D-d-date," he said low.

Pansy's eyes widened considerably. "Date?"

Ron mumbled incoherently.

"What?"

"Ball!"

"Let me get this straight," said Pansy, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a cool stare, "are you asking me if… if I have a date to the Ball?"

Ron mumbled again.

"WEASLEY!" she cried, short of stomping her foot in frustration. "Just spit it out already! Or are you too much of a coward to actually—"

"Who're you calling a coward?" demanded Ron, finally forming a coherent sentence.

"You! I'm calling _you _a coward! You're a coward because you don't have the balls to ask me to the Ball!"

"Tha—wha—that's—"

"And you're a _Gryffindor_! Now there's an irony if I ever—why are you laughing?"

"What made you _think_ I'm asking you to the Ball?"

In this, Pansy's fair cheeks reddened. "So… you're… not…?"

Ron noticed the drastic change in her expression, and said hastily, "Well, now that you've mentioned it—"

Her lip curled in distaste. How dare this poor, filthy plebian… this, this_ mongrel_… raise her hopes then dash it just as quick! _Who does he think he is, playing with me like that! _She flipped her hair nonchalantly. "I'm just making it clear," she said haughtily. "Actually, it's good that you're not asking me, because then you're saved from painful rejection. I happen to _have_ a date already."

"A… date?" Ron parroted, raising his voice. "A _date_? _You _have a date?"

"Yes," she hissed. "Yes I do."

"And who—just _who_—will that be?" Ron asked, fighting the urge to shake her senseless. If he knew who that bastard was, why, he ought to—

"None of your business, Weasley." Pansy all but spat the words out. She marched towards the Potions room in a flurry of Muggle robes and spite.

He balled his palms to fists, glaring at her back. "You know what I think? I think you're only inventing this—this—whoever this date of yours is! You don't have anyone yet, do you? Admit it!"

Pansy whirled on him, a brilliant flash of anger in her eyes. "How dare you!" she snarled, stomping her foot. "You filthy—little—how dare you! Invent a date, you say! And why, pray tell, would I do that?"

"You want to make me jealous, that's what!"

She breathed deeply, trying very hard not to claw his eyes out. "You flatter yourself, _Ronald_," she whispered. "If you must know, my date is none other than my _secret admirer, _the one giving me gifts all this time! Unlike you, he's generous, he's thoughtful, he's sweet and adorable—and, _unlike you, _he's to be my date!"

"Gifts?" repeated Ron. At this point, he wanted nothing more than to tell her the truth – that _he _was her phantom suitor – but he really wanted to catch her on her lie first. Pride thing, pure and simple. "So are you saying that you… you know _who_ this admirer of yours is?"

Pansy inhaled sharply. "Yes," she lied. "In fact, _he _was the one who asked me."

At that, Ron's eyes widened in shock. "You—you've met him?"

"Yes!"

"But—but how? I mean, I haven't—"

"What're you talking about?" she demanded. "What, you're going to accuse me of inventing our meeting as well? Do you want details? Is that what you want?"

"I don't—"

"I'll have you know that we met near the Forbidden Forest not two days ago, and he's a seventh year like us. He—he wore a red robe that complemented his—"

"That's enough," said Ron, his voice hoarse.

But Pansy, being a true Slytherin, didn't stop. "--gorgeous red hair and, and when he smiled his blue eyes just—"

"I said, that's _enough_!"

She said nothing to his outburst, only looked at him with wary eyes.

"You—you tell Snape I'm not feeling well," he said in a low voice, starting to move away. True to his word, he looked sick, pale and sweating. "I—I have to—"

"Weasley… _Ron_…"

But he'd already left.

Harry watched, with a mildly interested expression, as Ron left Pansy in haste. She looked stupefied and stricken, and for a moment acted as though she meant to follow him – but decided against it at the last minute.

"I don't get it," Harry mumbled, watching as the Slytherin dejectedly headed towards the Potions classroom by herself. "I mean, why won't Ron admit to Parkinson that he's her admirer?"

At that, Blaise turned to him, a grand smile adorning her face. "You mean, all this time, Weasley's—that's brilliant, Harry! Of course! Why haven't _I_ thought of that?" She clutched at his arm. "How long have you known?"

Harry debated on telling the truth or a lie – but seeing the way Blaise was looking at him, decided that the truth would be better. "Actually, I only found out when Malfoy threatened to use it against Ron," he said. As her adoring expression lessened, he defended, "Well, believe it or not Ron _was_ pretty good with hiding it. Even Hermione hadn't figured it out." _Or if she did, she never told me anything,_ he thought.

Blaise released his arm and clapped. "Oh, I can hardly believe it!" she gushed. "Everything's so wildly romantic!"

He snorted. "You call _that _scene romantic? All that screaming and—"

She stopped short. "Well—yes, if you take out all the pretenses and drama." Then Blaise grinned. "Wait 'til Pansy hears this! That girl's going to—"

"Surely you're not going to tell her yourself, are you? Ron's—"

Her eyes widened. "No! Of course not. I'm not going to steal Weasley's thunder, if that's what you're worried about. Let Pansy find it out herself, at the Ball. It's more… romantic that way." Then, her lips thinned. "And people say we Slytherins don't have feelings." She snorted. "What bullsh—"

Harry suddenly cleared his throat. "Speaking of the Ball…"

Blaise batted her lashes prettily at him. "Yes?"

"Do you… I mean, have you thought of… Ahem! Have you already… to the Ball, that is…"

She sighed, then placed both her hands on his shoulders. "This is difficult for you, isn't it?"

He grinned awkwardly. "More than you can ever imagine."

"Well, this time you won't have to be the hero. _I'll _save you." Blaise winked at him, and in the sternest, proudest voice she could muster, said, "Harry Potter, will you be my date to the Ball?"

Harry pretended to think long and hard, and just as Blaise was about to hit him he laughed and said, "Why yes, Blaise Zabini. I'll be delighted to accompany you to the Ball."

She impulsively hugged him. "Wicked!" she cried, releasing him in an instant. A blush resided in her cheeks firmly as she said, "Well now, this will surely shock poor McGonagall. Us going to the ball together, I mean, since you had her write that restraining order for me."

"Actually—" Harry stepped away from her instinctively, "McGonagall didn't write that. _I _did." As long as he was being honest with her, then he might as well tell her the truth about this one, too!

The smile on her face disappeared. "What?"

_Now _Harry saw the mistake in that. "Well, you have to understand, in those days I would've done everything to keep you away from me," he admitted, lifting his arms to illustrate his point. "BUT!" he cut in, when he saw her mouth open, "But, you know, I'm very—VERY—happy you disregarded it."

"Disregarded it?" Blaise's expression turned quickly from shock to furious. "_Disregarded it? _I cried over that note, you liar!!!"

"You… did?" Harry's expression softened. "Blaise—"

"I'll give you something to cry about, Harry Potter!!! I'll show _you!!!_" With a war howl, she launched herself at him. Harry was quick enough to dodge her attack, laughing as he did. Blaise, grinning evilly, lunged at him again, and thus started a chase around Hogwarts Grounds that lasted until hours later, when both of them were to drop dead due to exhaustion.

The minutes went by quickly. _Too quickly_, in Hermione's opinion, that it was hard to believe she and Malfoy had already gone through breakfast, met with Dumbledore, finished lunch, and was now on their way to every Professor involved in preparing for the Graduation Ball.

If this had happened days before, Hermione knew that either one of them would've been ready to slit the other's throat, if given the slightest provocation. All this time with him would've driven her to think that spending the rest of her life in Azkaban was nothing compared to the triumph of killing Draco Malfoy, and she had no qualms he felt the same way.

But now… all this time with him and here she was, having the best moments of her life.

That was just plain _wrong_.

_There goes my practical voice again, _she mused. But, as what was becoming habitual already, it went by unheeded.

"What did that loony Trelawney say?" Draco asked as they walked towards the Potions classroom. "'I have foreseen your coming together even before you were born! It was written in the teacups of your destinies, dearies!" He imitated the teacher's intonation to a fault that had Hermione laughing unabashedly. At the end of his charade, he was chuckling, too. "What was _that _all about? Don't tell me prophesies about us existed!" Then he reconsidered his words. "Well _of course _prophesies about _me_ existed, seeing as I am such an important figure in this world but—"

"Shush!" said Hermione, hitting him on the arm. "I've always thought Divinations was nothing but an extremely eccentric subject. And seeing _her _when I did, well – that confirmed it."

"I heard you walked out of her class."

Surprised, she glanced at him. "Did you now?" Hermione asked, mimicking Nott's tone. "Did you really?"

Draco smirked. "Believe me, that sort of stunt pulled by one of the Golden Trio wasn't taken lightly. Before I knew it, most of my housemates were already betting on who was next to do something… audacious."

"And were you involved in it?"

He waved a hand dismissively in the air. "I'm above those types of bets." Then Draco grinned. "But I _was_ tempted. The stakes then were very high."

Hermione peered at him curiously. "Really?" Then, she caught herself. "I'm almost afraid to ask what 'thing' the Slytherins betted on that Ron or Harry would do."

"Most of us were disappointed when it didn't happen, but…" Draco's eyes positively glimmered _evil. _"They betted that either Weasley or Potter would announce that he's gay, had a relationship with the other, and used you as a front. The bet was between who'd do it."

At her shocked expression, he laughed outright. "They didn't!" she exclaimed, stunned. _People thought Harry and Ron were gay? _How odd was that!

"Of course they did," Draco said easily. "We're Slytherins, Granger – we might not have real feelings but we do know how to have fun at other people's expense!" He sounded oddly defensive.

"Don't I know it." But the glare she sent him was playful, and the punch she gave him teasing.

At last, they arrived at the Potions classroom. "Say, do you know what Ron and Parkinson are up to? All that time they spent with Snape is a bit – well, alarming."

He lifted a brow at her. "Imagining naughty things, haven't you?"

She colored. "Of course not! Why you—"

The door opened without anyone knocking, and out stepped Snape. "Yes?" he demanded, looking at Draco in favor and Hermione in dislike. "Is there something you need?"

Hermione immediately took out the note that Dumbledore had earlier given them. "Professor Dumbledore had instructed that you should—"

"I assure you that I can read perfectly well, Miss Granger," he stated, glaring at her through beady slits he called eyes.

"I've told her hundreds of times, Professor," mumbled Draco meekly. "She wouldn't listen."

Hermione gawked at Draco, who was smirking at her in return. Oh, he was _just_—

"Something all Gryffindors do, no doubt." Snape took a quill out of his robes, checked something, then handed it to Hermione. Just as she was to reach it, he angled it away from her so now he was handing it to Draco. "I trust this would go to the Headmaster's hands unread?"

"Yes, sir," said Draco solemnly.

"Be that as it may…" Snape's beady eyes traveled to Hermione. "I placed a charm on it so that no one _else_ would be able to read it."

"Yes," Hermione all but spat. "Sir."

Then Snape walked back in the room and closed the door behind him with a snap.

"Oh honestly!" she exclaimed, shooting angry glares at the room. "_As if _I'd read it!"

But Draco was already scanning through the letter with interest. When he caught her gaping at him, he neatly folded it and tucked it in his palm. "Come on, to the Headmaster we go."

"But you—you read it!"

"Of course I did." He sounded affronted.

"But—but Snape said—"

"Who cares what Snape said? I read it and discovered some important matters that I know you're just _dying_ to pry from me."

"I am _not_," she said vehemently. But he was right – curiosity _was _brimming in her.

Damn it! Damn him!

"Don't lie, Granger," Draco said smoothly. "Keep glancing at the note and I might just tuck it someplace you'd be embarrassed to gawk at in public."

"And where would that be, I wonder?"

Wearing a naughty – there was just no other word for it – smile on his face, Draco moved the note towards the waistband of his trousers.

Hermione looked away, fire raging on her cheeks. She just _had _to walk in on that one! _Disgusting – vile – evil –_

"Hello, Weasley." Draco's voice dripped like poisoned honey.

"Hermione," said Ron, ignoring the other's presence completely, "are you okay? You look – flushed."

She glared at Draco before answering, "I'm fine."

"Say, _Ron_, you did manage to cram in that little space you call a brain that it's almost time for the plan to start, didn't you?"

Ron barely managed without wiping that disgusting smirk off that disgusting Slytherin's face. "Sod off, Malfoy. If you must know, I'm to pick up Parkinson." He lifted the object he held in his hands. "And what do you think _this _is for, if not for your precious plan?"

Hermione frowned at him. "Picking up Parkinson? Where?"

"Potions. Snape said something about—" Then he caught himself. The project was _still _a secret. "—about that thing we were working on. I didn't feel too good so she went alone."

"Had some lover's spat, Weasley?"

"Sod _off_!"

As if sensing his discomfort, Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "We'll talk later, okay? Malfoy's right – we should begin in a few minutes."

Ron mumbled something that sounded like, "Okay."

"See you," she said. But it fell on deaf ears, as Ron was already walking towards the Potions classroom like a convict being led to the gallows.

"Do you _have_ to do that?" snapped Draco.

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Nothing." And he all but ran towards the Headmaster's office, both his palms balled to fists, the note probably crumpled to oblivion.

Hermione had no choice but to follow him, thinking, _what's his problem?_

Pansy cast a cleaning spell on herself to remove traces of the solution she worked on. Satisfied that no residue stuck to her Muggle robe, she stepped out of the room – and beheld the person who occupied most her thoughts and made her bungle her way through the project.

"Hey," he said cautiously.

She inched her chin upwards. "Why are you here? I thought you're _sick_?"

"I am – I mean, I was," he said. Ron glanced at the door behind her. "What did you tell Snape?"

"That the reason you weren't here was because I gutted you and fed your entrails to Mrs. Norris," she retorted without skipping a beat. "Oddly enough, he bought it."

"I'm sure he would've celebrated if that truly happened, the oily git."

"Yeah, well if that really happened then _I _would've celebrated too," Pansy snapped.

Ron started to look angry, but instead blew a loud breath out. "Listen. I'm sorry if I were such an arse earlier – I mean, I know I don't have a say if you've got a date or not because we're—we're not—" His ears purpled. "You know."

"I do," she whispered.

"Umm…" At this, Ron moved the big bunch of red roses towards her. "Here."

"For me?" In an instant Pansy melted and smiled at him as she reached for the flowers. "Oh. Thank y—"

"No, they're for Nott!" he exclaimed. "The plan, remember?"

For the second time that day, Pansy wanted to find a hole in the ground and bury herself in it. "Augh!" she howled. "Ronald Weasley! You are such a complete—arrogant—filthy—_mongrel!_" And with that, she stormed off.

"What?" Ron cried, completely stupefied and stricken at her reaction. "What did I do? _Parkinson!_" And he followed her out.

Meanwhile, somewhere in Hogwarts Blaise screwed her face at her reflection. "_This,_" she said, meeting gray eyes at the mirror, "is a color that I know will _never _look good on me. How you Gryffindors pull it off, I can only wonder." She sighed reverently. "Merlin bless the Sorting Hat – at least it knew green suits me the best."

Harry scowled as well. "At least you don't get to have _this _face on. Looking at it just makes me want to hit myself."

"Kinky." She grinned, then frowned at her image. "Don't even get me started on _this_." Blaise pointed at her hair. "What a disaster! Don't any of you Gryffindors know the basics of proper hygiene and good grooming?"

His face darkened even more. "What? What's wrong?"

Blaise swiveled to face him. "Dearie, the only reason you don't see the problem's because you have the same one. But don't worry – sooner or later I'll find a solution for you." She gritted her teeth at the mirror. "For the-well-groomed-Slytherin-in-me's sake."

Harry knew he should say something to that, but lucky him he found a diversion. "Look, there goes Nott," he said, spotting the boy strutting towards the Forbidden Forest. "I guess that means—"

"Yep, Weasley and Pansy, right on time."

There was nothing left to do for them but wait.

Nott had been feeling rather queasy all throughout the day. Here he was, walking towards the forest, with absolutely no idea why. All he knew was that he _had _to be there – and he had to be alone.

Huh.

Something nagged at him – _you mustn't do evil things, you're a good person! You want everyone to be friends! You love children! You believe all we need is love! _– that caused him to hide himself all afternoon, just so he wouldn't do something as wrong as doing something right.

The voice in his head told him to stop, and he did. The voice told him to wait, and he did. The voice told him to turn around and _scream in utter terror—_

"GYYYAAAAHHHH!!!"

"What? What?" Ron demanded, a disgruntled look on his face.

Nott pointed at him, his hand trembling, "Your—your hair," he muttered. "It's—it's—"

"What?" snapped Pansy.

"It's _red,_" he whispered in blind horror.

Just because the voice told him to.

And now there was loud laughter in his head, the sound, oddly enough, like Malfoy's.

And then – SNAP! – the voice was gone, and Nott was feeling fine.

It also made him feel like venting his fury on someone. Preferably the albino that—

"Here," said Ron.

Nott curled his lip as a bouquet was thrust into his arms. "What's this?" he demanded, fixing Ron a hard look. "Are you professing your undying love for me? Because if you are, tough luck – I don't swing that way." _But if _you_ did, then _that _should've earned me hundreds of Galleons in Third Year you filthy—_

"You're disgusting," Pansy intoned.

"It's a peace offering," said Ron, visibly restraining himself from hitting him. Or hitting _on_ him, Nott wasn't sure. "From Hermione."

"The Mudblood?" Nott shoved the roses back. "I don't want anything tainted with her dirty blood on my hands, you stupid—"

And then suddenly, a voice shrieked:

_You nasty, you trashy, you classless boy,_

_You sleazy, you freaky_

_I never met a boy that does the things that you do_

_Shame won't come your way—_

"What the HELL is that?!" Nott cried, covering his ears as the song droned on.

"These—" Ron shoved the roses back to him, stopping it from singing, "are Rousing Roses, you idiot."

Nott glared at him. Oh, he knew those flowers all right. "So what, I'm supposed to just hold these to keep it silent?"

"Yes, you should," Hermione Granger herself said in her most obnoxious and bossy tones. She strode towards them with Draco – predictably - on her side.

"Here's the Golden Couple," Nott snarled. "Surveying your kingdom?"

"You know, you would've looked intimidating if you weren't holding a bunch of flowers like a blushing bride," Pansy sneered.

Ron guffawed, then stopped when she glared at him.

"_Golden?_" repeated Hermione, looking affronted. "I would've preferred _Silver _to appease the Slytherin in me—" Then she caught herself, "—I meant him. Slytherin in _him._" She jerked a hand at Draco's direction.

Nott scowled at her, then looked at Draco as if expecting something from him.

The attention caused the blond Slytherin to shuffle uncomfortably. "What?"

"You were supposed to say something incredibly demeaning and demoralizing," said Pansy.

Ron just nodded, then, when Pansy nudged him, muttered, "Oh, right." He turned around and nearly ran back to Hogwarts.

"Yes! Right, um—" Draco screwed his face in a sneer, "You have disgusting hair, Nott."

Hermione's smile was brittle. "Any other more creative insults, _dearie_?"

He looked blank. "Umm—"

"Something wrong?" asked Nott affably, shifting the roses in his hand. "With your head? All that punches I gave you must've—"

Draco looked at Nott's feet and said triumphantly, "You have disgusting feet!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No wonder you were sorted to Gryff—Slytherin," she corrected hastily. Then smiled at Nott. "I would've loved to exchange insults with you, but seeing as I must maintain my pure and pristine and _perfect_ record I'll do nothing of the sort. Instead, I'll offer you a hand to an everlasting friendship. After all, I aspire for nothing but world peace and happiness. That – plus a couple of products to tame my wild, bushy hair."

"Bl—" Draco cleared his throat. "I mean, Hermione—"

She batted her lashes prettily at him. "Yes, dearie?"

"You two," breathed Nott heavily, "make me sick. Keep your tainted things to yourself." And with that, he pushed the bouquet at Hermione's hands. "Enjoy your singing roses, Mudblood." He started to stalk away.

Draco's eyes widened as Nott moved, then he cried, "Hermione! You have a deadly allergic reaction to roses, remember?"

Hermione frowned at him, then at the roses, and brightened. "Yes! Yes I do!" She sneezed dramatically, the sound competing against the crying roses, then placed a hand over her mouth. "Something—is—clogging—my, my… GASP! I—can't—breathe—!"

"What? What's happening?" Nott demanded, watching as the Gryffindor swooned right into Draco's arms. "What's wrong with her?"

"She has a deadly allergic reaction to roses," said Pansy in a light tone. "She'll die, you know."

"No!" Draco shook Hermione with all his might. "You can't die! You can't die!"

"Shake—"

"What?"

"_Shake me harder and I will!_"

"Oh… sorry…"

"Look!" said Pansy, pointing. "There's Dumbledore. Well. Better tell him you killed the Head Girl."

"What!" said Nott, starting to sweat heavily as his eyes swiveled from the approaching Headmaster to the convulsing girl on the ground. "I didn't—I didn't kill—she's not even dead yet!"

And as if on cue, Hermione rasped out, "I am too! I am so… dying… here… dy—ing—" She gasped, then looked at Draco solemnly. "I—love—you—" And her eyes closed.

"NOOOO!!!"

"And now she's dead," Pansy said conversationally. "Better tell Dumbledore what you did." And to the _still _approaching figure she ran.

"I WON'T LET YOU GET AWAY WITH THIS!!!" cried Draco. He pointed at Nott. "I'LL GET YOU!!!"

"No! No! No!" and Nott started to run. Fear was fast on his veins and he ran until he thought his legs would fall, running off to somewhere, anywhere, just to get far away from the scene—

"Is he gone?" squeaked a voice.

"Yes," answered another.

"Finally." And Hermione pulled herself up with Draco's help. She winked. "He bought it, hook, line, sinker. Sucker."

"Where's Ron?" Draco asked.

"He-re," Dumbledore ground out. "I'm here." He squeezed Pansy's hand as she helped him walk. "Bloody hell. I don't want to be this old and still be walking. It's… bloody hell!" With his incredibly wrinkly hands he covered both his incredibly wrinkly ears. "Someone _please_ kill that blasted song!"

"I'll do it," said Pansy. And before anyone could stop her, she set afire the roses on the ground.

Which led them to multiply rapidly.

"Oh _good_ job, Parkinson."

"Shut up, Potter!"

Nott's feet brought him to the Great Hall, and he looked wildly around him. Had someone discovered already? _I killed Hermione Granger, _he thought, panicking and ignoring the wild looks he received in turn. Despite her filthy lineage her death still warranted punishment. And Dumbledore was right there! He'd be expelled, he'd be sent to Azkaban, the Dementor's Kiss—

"Hello, Theodore."

"GYYYAAAAHHHH!!!"

And there stood Hermione Granger, unscathed, un_dead_. "Wha—but—you're—"

"Yes?" she asked, eyebrow raised. "Is there a problem?"

"You're… dead!" he boomed. "Some… reaction… roses… Dumbledore!" Nott then pointed at Draco, who was smirking at him. "You held her when she died!" He then turned to Hermione. "You told him you love him!"

Hermione chuckled. "Like hell I will."

"Shut up, Granger," said Draco. He then fixed on Nott a meaningful look. "Lost your marbles, Theo? You seem … a bit pale. Something you encountered along _the forest_, perhaps?"

A look of confusion spread on Nott's face, then hot on its wings came comprehension. "You—" he said. "You two… _staged_…"

They didn't even try to deny it. "Gave you quite a scare, huh," goaded Hermione.

"And you know… we aren't finished yet."

And before Nott could utter another word, something drafty came his way. Particularly on the lower half of his body.

Draco cleared his throat. "As Head Boy, I am privileged to remind you the school's policy on students wearing uniforms at all times." Then he snickered. "Or wearing _clothes _at all times."

"What the hell are you—"

"_Oy!_" cried someone. "That's a lovely _cleavage _you have on, Nott."

"Crabbe, what the fuc—"

"Nott's in his birthday suit!" someone sang. "Come and see! Come and look!" And a crowd gathered around them.

When Nott decided to, he looked down at himself—and realized that he was terribly _naked. _Terribly, devastatingly, humiliatingly_ nude._

Millicent licked her lips. "My, Nott, if I wasn't so into Neville I would've checked you out."

"Hmm-hmm," agreed Lavender. "Look at that impossibly tight—"

With one hand Nott vainly strived to cover his… manly loins, while the other groped for—

"Looking for this?" Draco twirled _his_ wand prettily.

"Give—me—_that!_" Nott snarled, amidst the mounting laughter of the crowd.

"I'd like to see you grab for it, without uncovering your, _ahem_, private property…"

"You bastard Draco Malfoy! I'll kill you! I'll _kill _you!" And with that, he scrambled towards the Slytherin dungeons with the adoring—_hooting_—crowd fast on his heels.

"And _that_," said Draco triumphantly, "is humiliation at its best." He turned towards Hermione – and instead of the gloating look he expected on her face, she wore a worrying one instead. "What? Aren't you satisfied?"

She bit her lip, then turned to him. "He said—he said he'll kill you," Hermione whispered. "And there's no such thing as an empty threat to a Slytherin…"

At her vexed expression, he took both her hands and squeezed. "Don't worry," he said soothingly. "I won't let that bastard hurt me again." _Or you._

"How…?"

He grinned, and without thinking, kissed her on the forehead. "I have a plan."

That night, Hermione watched Draco as he hunted for Nott. She did this discreetly, not wanting the Slytherin to find out what she was doing. What she wanted was to find out what _he _would do, when he said he had a plan.

Nott hissed like a wounded snake when Draco found him. "You bastard," he seethed. "I'll kill you, I'll kill—"

"How can you kill me without a wand?" Draco smiled faintly, and Hermione felt her heart stop when she saw Nott wield a large knife.

"Malfoy--!"

And with Nott distracted, Draco took out his wand and said, "_Obliviate!_"

Something in the other Slytherin's face slackened, and for a while his expression was blank. He then shook his head, looked at Draco and at the knife he was holding, and said, "Draco?" without a trace of loathing in his voice. "What— what happened?"

"Professor Sprout asked you to gather some herbs for her, I reckon," replied Draco smoothly.

Nott drew his brows together, then shook his head again and left.

Hermione still had some trouble with her breathing when she stared at Draco. "I thought—he was going to stab you," she said.

"Yes, well." He raised his hands. "Part of the whole 'retribution' thing, getting your life threatened."

"But… memory charms?" Why hadn't she thought of _that_ from the beginning?

Draco laughed. "Smart, isn't it?"

She nodded. It couldn't be denied; it was an easy and _safe_ way out of this mess, a guarantee that Nott wouldn't harm them anymore —

"—that way, the bastard will _still _be laughed at, and he would have no idea why."

Typical Slytherin reasoning.

"That's barbaric," she commented, appalled.

"No, dear," said Draco lightly, tapping her on the nose. "That's _revenge_."

--

**Author's Notes: **Whooppeee! This has to be the longest chapter I've written – as in ever. Whooppee! Yay! Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it! And, hopefully, this made you forgive me for not updating sooner… did it? Did it? –puts a pleading look on my face-

Next up: Graduation Ball. I hope you're as excited as I am for that long awaited moment! :)


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Divine Humiliation**

Hermione awoke that morning with the feeling that she'd been repeatedly hit over the head with a bludgeon. It was caused by the fact that, in her dream, a certain blond-haired demon wielded the damn thing in his hands and chased her across the grounds with it. Then, the last thing she remembered before waking up was that the scenario had changed; instead of the bludgeon the demon now held roses and instead of the fields they were now in a dim place, surrounded by music and dancing and—

The incessant rapping noise she heard the moment she woke up did _not _help her pounding head.

"_Hermione_! I demand that you open this door this instant!"

"Dear little redhead girl, stop scratching me! Oh, how many times do I have to tell you my mistress is—"

"I _won't _let a portrait like you stop me. _Hermione_! Open this door or else I'll—"

"Coming, I'm coming!" She grabbed her robe and wrapped it around herself, trying to chase away lingering images of gold hair and silver eyes and blood-red roses—

"HERMIONE!"

Abruptly, Hermione opened the door and beheld Ginny. "What?"

"Well thank goodness you're _finally_ awake." The younger girl pushed herself into the room. "I've been knocking on that door for who knows how long. Look! I might have to do my nails again. Just look!" She held her hands up, palms facing her, to show Hermione the dreadful fates her fingernails suffered.

Hermione cocked her head to one side. "I'm… sorry?"

"You better be." Ginny inched her face up haughtily. "Why are you still in bed, anyway? Practically all seventh years are out doing their last minute shopping!"

Hermione raised her brow skeptically. "Even your brother? Harry?"

Ginny nodded. "They're somewhere out there, buying cheap corsage. And with their taste in flowers? Please." She snorted. "Good luck to their dates, that's _all_ I'm going to say."

Hermione rubbed her eyes warily. "Look, I'm sure it's fun to hear how dreadful you think Harry and Ron's tastes are but—"

"Oh no, silly! That's not what I came here for."

"Then why—"

"I came to say goodbye." She flipped her hair. "With yesterday being the last day of school and all, we woeful younger ones are to be sent home today since we don't have your _stupid_ ball."

All sleepiness disappeared from Hermione as she stared at her friend. Despite the flippant tone she opted for, there was no denying the genuine distress in her voice. "Ginny—"

"Yeah." Ginny sighed, then drew her in for an impulsive hug. "Oh, Hermione! Good luck with the whole you-and-Malfoy-against-the-entire-world thing you've got going on. Even if he _is _a git and a Slytherin to boot, I'm hoping you two will make it work. After all, _someone's_ bound to take a whack at that stupid prejudice issue, and it might as well be you, right?" She sniffed. "I'm _so _going to miss you!"

Hermione awkwardly patted her at the back. "There, there. You don't have to be sentimental right _now_, you know. We'll still see each other in a few days…"

"Right." Ginny pretended to wipe tears from her eyes. "Of course. There's still your graduation. And if things get _really_ well with him, then there's your engagement party, your wedding…"

"_Ginny_!"

"Oh, before I forget… here." She took something from her pocket and handed it over. "Wear it, will you?" When she saw Hermione's brows drew together, Ginny said exasperatedly, "Don't tell me _you weren't planning_ on wearing it."

"With you having this, the thought didn't exactly cross my mind."

Ginny let out a martyred sigh. "Hermione Granger, you are _hopeless_. No offense."

"None take—"

"Do you _know _how important the ball is? Have you thought of the _severity_ this occasion entails?" She crossed her arms. "Are you even aware of what today _is_?" Ginny grabbed the invitation lying innocently on Hermione's table and wagged it mercilessly before she flung it at the bed.

"Of course I—"

"If you've been attending the previous meetings instead of doing Merlin knows what then you wouldn't have missed so much: dress rehearsals, color coordination seminars, hair workshops – basically _every_ essential tool a girl needs to know to get ready for tonight!" Ginny's eyes flashed. "And now that I'm leaving, who's going to help you? Let's face it; even a girl as smart as you is really uneducated with the ways of real women."

A flush of indignation quickly rose to her cheeks. "_Ginny—_"

But the girl merely smiled. "Maybe you could get Parvati to get _that_ exact hue. She's brilliant with colors, you know. And Lavender's a wizard – pun intended – with hairs. She'll get your tangles all untangled in no time." She squinted, as she looked Hermione over. "I wish I could help you dress since your style leaves much to be desired when it comes to—"

"I can dress myself well, thank you!"

"Sure you can." Ginny took her hand and dragged her out of the room. "I mean, you've got the whole librarian look flat and perfect. But for tonight, you should look… _hot_. Something that'll show Malfoy—"

"I _don't_ care one way or another if Malfoy—"

"Oh, gi-irls!" Ginny sang as she pushed Hermione into the Gryffindor common room. The very cluttered, very _messy_ common room. "Pro-ject!"

Hermione watched, aghast, as Lavender and Parvati ran to her with hairbrushes and makeup bags in hand.

Truly, she had never seen a scarier sight.

"I'd love to stay and help, but our carriages are leaving anytime now." Ginny opened her arms to the two girls. "Last group hug before I go?"

"Oh, Ginny!" Lavender shrieked, pushing past Hermione as she rushed at Ginny.

"Ginny!" Parvati squealed, rushing as well.

And the three girls squealed and shrieked as they hugged.

"We're _so _going to miss you!"

"I know! I'll miss you too!"

It's a wonder Hermione wasn't deaf yet with all the exclamation points poking her ears.

"I'm expecting lots and lots of owls, especially from you, Hermione! Oh, and pictures! Lavender, do you—"

"Still got Creevey's camera," Lavender said, pointing to a purse. "Don't worry about missing anything."

"And I've borrowed that quill from Padma. You'll get a transcript of tonight's events, I promise," said Parvati.

"Awesome." Ginny bit her lip, looking reluctant to depart. "Well, I really have to go. Bye everyone! Don't forget your owls and pictures and stuff!" And with a last flying kiss, she was gone.

They were silent for a couple of seconds, each lost in her thoughts.

"Ah, I'm going to miss that girl," Parvati said wistfully, staring at the space Ginny vacated.

"Yeah," Lavender agreed softly. "But she _did _leave us a legacy…"

And Hermione felt her heart stop when two sets of beady eyes focused on her. "Um," she began lightly, backing towards the door, "I'm sure you're both busy doing your own… well, preparations. Must not let all those workshops and seminars go to waste!" She let out a nervous chuckle as inch by inexorable inch they closed in on her. "Why don't I just… leave… and…"

"You are _not _going anywhere," stated Lavender, closing the door behind Hermione with a determined _click_.

"We promised Ginny we'll help you look hot and Merlin help us that's _exactly _what we're going to do," said Parvati.

Trying one last resort, Hermione said, "But you still have to worry about your own appearances! I'm just going to slow you down, and—"

"Not if we're multitasking," answered Parvati. "She can do your hair while I do your make-up. Now hush! Let us prep you up for your ball with the gorgeous Mr. Malfoy." She grinned wickedly. "Think of us as your fairy godmothers."

Lavender winked. "We'll make sure that boy won't be able to keep his hands off you the whole—"

Hermione just _knew_ she didn't like the sound of that.

"So before anything else… let's see. What's the color of your gown?"

Resigning herself to her fate, Hermione answered flatly, "White." Then she bent and started picking up the clothes strewn all over the room. _Some semblance of order _must_ be restored in this place_! When she faced the other girls, she noticed that their skin had turned an ugly shade of gray. "What?"

"Are you going to do it or am I?"

Lavender clutched at her chest. "You do it. I still can't get the image off my mind... _white_…" She shuddered. "…_why?_"

Parvati slowly came to her, a look of absolute pity on her face. "Hermione…"

"What?" An edge colored Hermione's tone as she stared right back.

"I have to ask… _when_ did you get that gown?"

"Please don't say at the beginning of the year don't say at the beginning of the year…"

"As a matter of fact," Hermione snapped with a look at Lavender, "I've had it since the beginning of the year."

"Oh oh oh _Hermione_…"

"Calm down Lavender, we can still salvage this!" Parvati took deep breaths, gave Hermione a watery smile. "And… and did you… pick up the dress yourself?"

"Well…" Hermione squinted as she remembered that shopping trip she had several months back. "I think my mum—"

"_Stop it_," Lavender cried dramatically. "I can't take it anymore!"

"Oh shut it, Brown," Hermione huffed. "It's _only _a gown!"

"_Only a gown,_ she says! _Only a gown _she _says!_"

"Here, drink this and calm yourself down." Parvati shoved a bottle at Lavender, before saying to Hermione, "She's been out of sorts since this morning. Nerves, you know, with her hair in a frizz and—look, let's burn your gown and find something else to wear. What do you say?"

"Are you mad? NO!"

Parvati was visibly desperate. "But Hermione, you can't wear white tonight! You just _can't_!"

"Why the hell not?"

Lavender had composed herself enough to insert, "Are you going to a funeral?"

"No."

"Wedding?"

"No!"

"Then, my dear _Granger_, unless you're planning on being a bride or a corpse at your own graduation ball then you will _not_ wear that damned thing. Over our outrageously gorgeous dead bodies, _comprende_?"

Tired of being argumentative and wary of the throbbing vein at Lavender's forehead, Hermione said, "Fine. _Fine! _I'll be your guinea pig, all right? But I'm telling you, this will be a disaster and I'll—"

"You won't be a disaster," Parvati said, wearing a tight smile.

"You definitely won't." Lavender gave her a beatific grin and patted the dresses gathered in Hermione's arms. "Now, I want you to fit all these and parade each one in front of us. Just so you know, Parvati's wearing lime and my own color's beige, so no similar hues on you, 'kay?"

"But… there are at least thirty gowns in this pile!"

"So _move already_."

There was that throbbing vein again. With a huff Hermione trudged to the closet and took her robe off, then selected a plum-colored gown and placed it on.

She showed herself to the two dragons judging her, waiting on bated breath as they made their verdict.

Parvati wrinkled her nose. "The color's hideous on your skin. Makes all your blue veins more visible."

Lavender shook her head. "Your hair won't look good with that. Change."

Hermione did. She chose a nice pink tube top with bell skirt that she quite liked.

"No… the color makes you look… top-heavy. Change."

A butter-yellow straight gown with ribbons at the hem was next to be showcased.

Lavender frowned. "I'm planning on roses for your hair, dear, and _that_ simply won't do. Change."

Just to spite them, Hermione chose a long-sleeved maroon gown with a boat neckline.

The looks of pain on Parvati and Lavender's faces gave her no small amount of satisfaction.

_Temper, Hermione, _she thought, as she placed a chemise-like gray dress with transparent sleeves. _They _are _helping you, no matter how unwanted or unnecessary their help may be…_

"Oh oh _oh_ Hermione…" Parvati moaned.

"What are you moaning for? These are _your _dresses, for crying out loud!" she snapped, before going back to the closet and grabbing a black gown.

When Hermione stood before Lavender and Parvati, she mirrored the look of impatience on their faces. "Now what?"

"What d'you think?" asked Lavender as she turned to the other girl. "The roses I have will actually look great with that dress."

Parvati thought for a moment, then shook her head. "She has unfortunate coloring. With that material any type of makeup on her, no matter how subtle or bold, will make her look dead."

Lavender bit her lip. "Do we have time for a tanning spell? But that takes hours, and I think Ginny has that cream with—"

"We don't. I swear some sun on her skin would've done her a lot of good! All those hours buried in books instead of—"

"I _know! _Shame, isn't it, I mean with those lovely eyes some color on her face would've—"

"I'm _right here!_" Hermione shrieked. "Don't talk about me as if—"

"Right, darling. Change."

Fuming mad now, Hermione blindly groped for a gown lying near her feet. _I don't care if I end up looking like a clown, _she thought, savagely zipping up the dress at the side. _If this gown doesn't get their approval then I'll wear my own, just they wait! _She stepped out, nearly tripping over the discarded gowns as she went. With _that_ fueling her rage she bit out, "Well?"

For a few moments, all the two girls could do was stare at her.

Irritated, she bit out, "Oh _please_ don't tell me this gown makes my arms look fat, or my eye bags more noticeable, or—"

Then the unthinkable happened.

"Oh, it's perfect! Just _perfect_!" shrieked Lavender, leaping from her seat to engulf Hermione in a hug.

"W-what?"

"Yes! Oh, and I have _just_ the shade for your eyes and cheeks, and for foundation—"

"Roses on your hair for a feminine flair—"

"Eye shadow! Maroon… no, no dark magenta—"

"With one side pulled to the back and—"

"So I take it this gets your approval," said Hermione dryly, flapping her palm against the cascade of lace on her skirt.

"Oh yes! It's _perfect!_" they both squealed.

_Thank Merlin! _"Now that I've got my dress… what next?" she asked innocently, playing with the fabric that ballooned below her waist. "What are you… going… to…"

And when they fixed their beady eyes on her with intent clearly shining on them, Hermione silently cursed her curiosity. She just _had _to ask!

Hours zoomed by, and in those minutes Hermione had endured heaven and hell in alternation. The hot shower Lavender insisted on released the stiffness in her muscles, and the facial mask the girl provided soothed her eyes and made her skin feel smoother. But having Parvati do her nails and shape her brows were wrong moves on her part. Looking at the bleeding mass her digits had become, she wondered if the Gryffindor held a grudge she wasn't aware of. And plucking her eyebrows _hurt, _dammit!

So now she sat, clothed in a robe with her hair wrapped in a hot towel over her head and her fingers and toes spread wide open. Hermione watched bemusedly as the two girls scrambled to dress themselves, as their hair and makeup were already in place. She had to admit, the lime brought a bloom to Parvati's skin, and the beige accented Lavender's eyes and hair. She wondered briefly what Ginny would've worn if she were—

Then Lavender's rough pulling of the towel snapped her back to reality. "Ow! What—"

"Your nails are dry," Lavender announced. "Get to your feet and dress yourself, quick! We don't have much time!"

"Time check, an hour and a half 'til the Ball," said Parvati, wringing her hands. "We can still do it!"

"Yes, yes we can. Hand me that brush, and here's your foundation – let's get to work!"

And just like that, hell started for Hermione again.

She was unaware that in another room, someone else was experiencing her own version of hell.

Blaise was busy spreading some blush on her cheeks when she caught Pansy's eyes in the mirror. Recognizing the unhappy glaze in her face she asked, "What's wrong with you? Aside from the usual, I mean."

Pansy sighed, and with trembling hands she fastened the diamonds on her ears.

"Come on," said Blaise gently, though she had a clear idea on what was bothering the girl. "Tell me. After all, what are pseudo-friends for?"

"You missed a spot," Pansy said low, before sinking in a swath of lilac swirl on the bed. "And I don't have a date."

"What?" Blaise demanded.

"I said I don't have a—"

"I _missed a spot? _Where? Oh Merlin I can't let Harry see—" Then Blaise caught the murderous expression on Pansy's face and said hastily, "Oh, right, _your _pain. Um… didn't Weasley ask you?"

"He did." Seeing the box her latest gift arrived in, Pansy stood and took the note attached to it. She sighed again. "But I told him I already have a date."

"Did you?" Satisfied that no spot on her face was left uncovered, Blaise elaborated, "Why on earth would you say that?"

"Because _he's _stupid! He's such a stupid, filthy plebian and—"

"I'm sorry," said Blaise affably, not hiding the fact that she was very much enjoying the disgruntled expression on her friend's face. "You kind of lost me there. Shouldn't you be saying that _you're _the stupid one? After all—"

"I know, Blaise! I _know! _But—" Pansy threw the note away. "He made me so angry that I—well, I blurted it out. Oh, this is a disaster!" She made a vague gesture at Blaise. "It's _so_ unfair that you and Draco get to enjoy tonight whereas I—I mean, what will my mother say when she finds out that not only did I reject Draco as my date but I also can't get a _Weasley _as replacement?"

"Don't you worry your pretty head over that." Blaise grinned. "Everything will turn out fine, you'll see…"

Pansy sent her a resentful look. "You're just gleeful youcan _legally_ manhandle Potter without him whining like a girl about it."

"Well, there _is _that," agreed Blaise quickly. "See, I've spotted this dark little room near the hall where we can sneak in, and if Harry plays his cards right he may just get lucky—"

"Spare me the emotional trauma," Pansy snapped. "I don't want myself scarred in any way, thank you."

"As you wish." Blaise applied her final coating of lipstick with a flourish. "There! All done. I must admit I'm most impressed with this Muggle lipstick – what's it called again?"

"Lipfinity."

"This is the one that stays on for a long time, right?"

"Yes." She sighed for the third time.

"Oh quit sighing, Parkinson! You're being pathetic, for Merlin's sake. Here, let's talk about something else… why don't you tell me about that project Snape had you do."

Pansy shrugged. "Just some potion for the walls. You'll see later on what it's for."

"Huh. Interesting."

"Yes, it is." Then she smiled brilliantly. "There was one time when Ron spilled the—" And just as sudden, the smile disappeared, and Pansy sighed again.

Blaise pouted at herself in the mirror. "Oh, _frickin' _great. Here we go again."

In the Gryffindor common room, Hermione fought the urge to elbow Lavender as the girl all but broke her neck while brushing her hair. "Ow! Will you just—"

"Hush and pucker up." Parvati applied a heavy coat of paint over her lips and cheeks.

"But isn't this too—"

_Crack! _"Dammit, that's the fourth time my hairbrush broke! _Reparo!_ Honestly, don't you _ever_ brush your hair?"

"Of course I—"

_Crack!_

"Care to tell the truth this time?" said Lavender briskly. "_Reparo!_" Then, she placed the repaired brush down and with her fingers dragged half of Hermione's hair to one side and held it in place with something heavy. "There! That should do it. Are you done?"

Parvati nodded. "I think she's ready."

Hermione pursed her heavily painted mouth. "Can I _at least _see myself, please?"

"Of course." And Parvati all but dragged her to a mirror that exclaimed its delight at being able to reflect "three outrageously lovely ladies!"

"Oh my…" said Hermione, her mouth hanging open.

"You betcha, honey," the mirror sang.

Lavender tapped the side of her lips with a coated nail. "Like I always say, nothing but perseverance and patience can tame that damned bushy hair to perfection. Now look at it. Look at _you._"

Parvati nodded and smiled. "You do Gryffindor's colors proud, Hermione."

"That you do. Oh Hermione! Malfoy's just going to _die _when he sees you!"

Inside, Hermione felt a delightful, delicious tingle as she thought of how he was going to react… and she couldn't help the smile that broke out of her face as she did.

The dress practically clung to every curve she had no idea she had, but instead of making her look tacky and tasteless the gown gave her sophistication and style. Its soft fabric warmed her and heightened her sensuality at the same time – like an open invitation for a man to hold her close. The dipping neckline revealed a very subtle, very subdued cleavage, and the perfume Parvati sprayed on her made her scent assertive and alluring. The flowers that pinned half her hair away from her face were both feminine and flirtatious, and their color – blood red – complemented the lacy swirls of dark pink, red, and black that coated her body.

"Oh, Her-mi-o-ne…" Parvati sang. "I think you dropped this in the closet." And in her hands the necklace Ginny returned dangled. She quickly fastened it around Hermione's neck, watching in satisfaction as the ruby settled right in her chest.

"_Purrr_fect. And that reminds me…" Lavender took out a box from her purse.

Hermione's eyes widened as she watched the girl open the box that Malfoy gave her that day she'd served as his slave. Her 'bonus', as he called it then. "Where'd you get that?" she inquired sharply.

"Ask Ginny," answered Lavender flippantly. She slipped the ring on Hermione's finger and the earrings on her lobes. "There. Now you're ready to kick arse, Hermione Granger!"

And as Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, the two girls exchanged highly triumphant grins and high-fives behind her back.

"Only thirty minutes to the ball," announced Parvati. "Come on, let's go. I'm meeting Dean in a few minutes." She placed a hand on Hermione's back and gently pushed her forward. "Lavender, where're you meeting Seamus?"

"At the hall. I think he has to see Susan for the dance first. How about you? Where will Malfoy pick you up?" asked Lavender curiously.

Hermione placed a hand on the door. "Actually, I—"

The words died in her mouth.

For on the other side of the door stood Draco Malfoy.

The few seconds that their eyes met were enough to make her nervous and edgy. She curbed the desire to tuck in an errant strand of hair behind her ear – she thought the act was too _girly. _Instead, she watched his reaction, and in doing so did not miss the way his eyes widened, or the way his face contorted to a look that was purely masculine and possessive in form. Hermione felt a blush color her cheeks in response, and cursed herself for not being able to control her reaction to his gaze.

"We'll leave you lovebirds alone," said Lavender, pulling a giggling Parvati behind her.

But Malfoy barely paid them any mind. His lips quirked upward, and Hermione was surprised when her hand was swept up and blessed with a kiss. "You've outdone yourself this time, Granger," he said, his lips lingering near her skin.

She wanted to pull her hand away, but didn't. "Lavender and Parvati's work, all of me." And she was suddenly grateful, because at least she didn't feel, or _look,_ inadequate next to him.

"Then I have to see to it that they're lavishly thanked." He placed her hand in the crook of his arm and together they strode to the Hall.

Hermione couldn't help it; she stole glances at him whenever she thought he wouldn't notice. She'd burn in hell before she admitted it to anyone, but Malfoy looked absolutely… absolutely…

Her brows knitted. _Handsome _was too common a word. _Gorgeous _wasn't fitting enough. _Attractive _was tame compared to what he was.

Tonight, Draco Malfoy was simply… _magnificent_.

Although wearing the most basic of black suits, he made it more elegant and refined with how he carried it. As her arm brushed against the cloth, she didn't have to be an expert to know its value. The cool, soothing way it collided with her skin made her ache to rub herself against him. The green tie didn't miss her scrutiny – Slytherin to the core, that he was. And the gold cufflinks on his sleeves as well as the cold tang of rings on his fingers bragged the wealth _Malfoy_ was synonymous with.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked, stroking her skin with his thumb.

"I—" She paused, then looked away. "I won't dignify that with an answer."

"You're wearing the gifts I gave you."

Hermione felt warmth seep into her face again. "It'd be a waste not to, after all—"

"Always had to be practical, Hermione?" He gave her an approving glance, his eyes settling over her necklace. "I'm glad you took that back from Weaslette," he said succinctly. "It looks better on you."

"I never gave this to Ginny in the first place. She only borrowed it for a time."

He grinned. "You're full of surprises tonight."

She frowned. "Quit being so, so…"

"Handsome? Gorgeous? Attractive?"

Shocked, she stared at him. "How did—no, no." Hermione shook her head. "I was going to say 'pleasant'. And if you're fishing for compliments—"

"I'm not." Malfoy reached out and brushed a knuckle against her jaw. "Smile for me, luv. Together we're going to blow them away."

"Them? What—"

And at that moment, they stepped inside the hall.

The room was already full of students, most of them hustling and bustling, and literally all activities halted when they appeared. Gasps of shock and surprise came out of their mouths, making Malfoy smile – clearly, _he _was enjoying the attention lavished on them. Hermione, on other hand, was feeling faintly uncomfortable with the gawking and staring they received, but remembering her place and determined to have a good time, she gave her best impression of a smile and did a little wave to those she personally knew.

"They're all looking at you," Malfoy said, bending to whisper in her ear. "They're wondering what you've done to yourself… who _you _are…"

"They can all go to hell," she said, her smile freezing in place. "If by now they still don't know I'm actually _female_ I—"

"I think _now _they get it," he said, giving her a warm, meaningful smile. And just as he spoke, a horde of people crowded them.

"Wow, Hermione," said Neville, taking along an obviously reluctant Bulstrode beside him. "You look… you look…"

"Hot," said Ernie, winking at her.

"Stop drooling over her," snapped Malfoy. "She's _mine._"

For that alone, she could've happily strangled him. Getting over her choked denial she asked, "Have you seen Harry and Ron?"

Neville shook his head. "They're not here yet."

She wrinkled her brow. "But why—"

"You look so beautiful, Hermione!" gushed Susan, nearly sloshing and spilling her drink as she showed.

"That dress, I absolutely adore it!" cried Hannah, after agreeing with Susan. "Where'd you buy it?"

"Why don't you ask Lavender and Parvati? They lent this to me," she answered, pointing at the two girls standing near the drinks. She then sent Malfoy a helpless look.

He got the message. "Come on, let's get ourselves a drink." To the others he said cheekily, "You can still marvel at how striking a couple we make by watching us walk away." And with that, he guided her out of their reach.

"Well, that was… uncomfortable," she stated, unconsciously drawing closer to him for security.

He shrugged. "It's the price you have to pay for being beautiful."

She snorted. "And you'd know that _how_?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Because I'm _me._"

"Yeah, right." She scanned the crowd, and let out a delighted shriek. "Oh, look! Harry and Ron, there they are! I have to—"

"No you don't," said Malfoy, tightening his hold on her. "I doubt they have time for you, anyway."

Stung, she asked, "Why would—"

"Look." He pointed at them. "They're already heading towards Pansy and Blaise. You can talk to them later, _if_ you can get their attention."

Seeing that what he said actually _was _the truth, she huffed.

"Don't pout, luv," Malfoy told her, taking something from his pocket. "People might think you're not having fun with me."

Annoyed, she slipped her arm from his hold. "And do you think I'm actually—what's that?"

The smile he gave her was lazy and insolent. "Your corsage. I forgot to hand it to you earlier, seeing as I've been busy trying not to have a heart attack when I first saw you."

Cursing the fact that her own heart was beating furiously, she stammered, "You—you don't mean that."

"Mean what? Is it wrong for me to tell _my girlfriend_ how beautiful she is tonight?" He placed the corsage around her wrist and snapped the gold link that held it in place. "Besides, it's only fair I complimented you, since you called me _magnificent_. And coming from you, that's—"

She took her eyes off the blood-red rose adorning her wrist to meet his wickedly amused ones. Oh, _Lord. _Did she actually say that part aloud? "I did not!"

"You did," he said, taking her arm again. "You look shaken, Granger. Come, let's _really_ get ourselves that drink." And off they went.

On the other side of the room, Blaise smiled as her eyes met Harry's. Giddiness overcame her, and she had to restrain herself from jumping on him right then and there. "Look at you," she said happily once he was standing beside her. "Is that… gel on your hair?"

Harry adorably tugged at his slicked head. "The boys insisted I place some," he answered. "Like it?"

"Like it?" Blaise chuckled. "It's only _the_ answer to my prayers!"

He smiled in return, clearly pleased with himself and her reaction. "I have something for you."

She raised her brows as Harry took out a purple corsage, noting for a second that it clashed ridiculously well with the pale blue silk dress she wore.

What the hell. She'd gladly drag a barrel behind her if _that_ were what he brought her. "Oh, Harry. They're lovely," she said softly, leaning close and kissing him on the cheek.

"…oh," he muttered very faintly, making Blaise giggle at his awestruck reaction. "S-so," he started, trying to regain his wits and dignity, "do you—uh—know when our dance will be?"

Blaise pointed at the group of teachers huddled at one dark corner. "The program hasn't started yet but – Oh my, Harry! Look at _that_!"

At her shriek, the students looked up and gasped as a cascade of bumbling, glowing balls came down from the ceiling. Like sheer snowflakes it glided to the ground, and like heavy rain more came down to replace those already spent. Add this effect to the flowers, ribbons, and balloons decorating the room, and the students could only marvel at the sudden transformation that gripped the ambiance of the Great Hall; from fun and fantastic it became tender and romantic.

Clearly, the night was for fantasies and dreams, for wishes and desires came true.

Blaise reached for a ball floating near her and found it warm to the touch. "It's beautiful," she said, smiling at Harry.

He gently took her arm and turned her around. "Wait until you see the walls…"

She gasped and covered her mouth. As the balls of light fluttered near the walls, it gave her a fleeting glance of her and Harry dancing together during their first practice. "What—how's that possible?"

Harry grinned. "Remember Snape's secret project, the one he had Ron and Parkinson do?"

"Potion for the walls, that's what Pansy said…"

He nodded. "Ron told me as well. He said with the potion on it, the walls now reflect our best memories in Hogwarts."

_Best memories… _Blaise stared at the dreamy scene of Harry asking her to be his date for tonight. "I-I can't believe it," she said. "Oh Harry, this is beyond amazing. Seeing these memories again I… just…" And her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears.

"Why?" Harry lifted her face with his finger. "What do you see?"

Smiling softly yet shrewdly, she answered, "The time when Theodore and I kissed in sixth year. You see, that was the best—"

"The hell it is." And before Blaise could elaborate on her lie, Harry had swooped down and kissed her hard on the mouth.

Her first reaction was shock. Numbly, her arms automatically floundered about. But as she was smacked with what he was actually _doing_, her hands developed minds of their own and she used them to gather him closer to her.

When they drew apart, they were both wearing idiotically wide grins on their faces.

"What do you see now?" Harry demanded, his breathing slightly hitched.

"Other than the jealous look on your face?" she asked, then giggled when he scowled. "I guess we have to work on it, since Nott's still the one I see in those damned walls."

And before Harry knew it, _he _was the one floundering and gripping her hard in his arms.

Pansy spotted Weasley walking towards her. She fought it, but she got more nervous just seeing him. The slight feeling of panic first attacked her when she spotted those walls, and now that she was seeing the real thing… well. What was it about poor, filthy plebeians that made her feel like this? Never before had she acted this unsettled and distracted – until that day they became dance partners, then co-workers for the potion they made…

She swallowed hard, noting for a fact that Weasley actually looked _human_ today. Instantly she scanned for a bumbling idiot trailing behind him – Merlin forbid what she'd do if he introduced his date to _her_ – and found, to her relief, that there was none.

"Hello, Weasley," she said flippantly. "Why, you look half-decent today."

He grunted. "So do you." Weasley looked behind her, frowned, then demanded, "Where's your date?"

There. The dreaded question. "He's… around." Pansy arched a brow. "Where's yours?"

He shuffled his feet. "I… I don't have one."

_That _surprised her. "You didn't ask somebody else?"

Weasley shrugged. "What's the point? You're already—" He paused, embarrassed and afraid to meet her eyes.

"I'm already what?"

"Nothing." But the telltale flame on his face told her otherwise. "Just… just forget—"

"Damnit, Ron! Finish a sentence for once in your _life_!" she shrieked, causing the others to look at her.

Damned if she cared about them now.

"All right!" he snarled. "You were _taken_! You're already taken so I didn't see the point in asking someone else!" He savagely combed his hand through his hair, sent self-conscious looks around them. "Merlin, Pansy! You make me _so _angry sometimes that I just want to—"

"Angry?" she snapped. "Try being laughed at, then you'll see what anger really _is_."

"I already apologized for that!"

"Then why are you here?"

He pursed his lips. "It'd be better if your date's here – I need to speak to him."

She waved her hand. "You can tell me."

"But I have to—"

"Trust me, it'll be a while before you see him. Now spill it."

"Fine." Weasley took a small box from his coat, tapped it with his wand, and once it swelled handed it to her. "Here."

"What's this?"

"You'll see."

Pansy tossed him a confused look, then pulled the red bow that was wrapped around the box. She saw that inside was a black… something. Taking it out, her suddenly nerveless hands dropped everything else except the gift. "It's… it's a robe," she muttered. She looked at him for confirmation.

He only nodded.

Stunned, she automatically searched for the label, and her knees buckled when she saw – "Cha—_Chanel_?"

Weasley shrugged. "I spent a _lot_ on that this time. I thought tonight was special." He snatched the robe from her numbed hands. "Whoever your date is, he's _not _your secret admirer. _I _am. He's lying. I don't know why, or how he found out I'm giving you gifts, but I want you to know – it's been me all along."

Something fluttered in Pansy's chest. "Ron—"

"I mean, Merlin knows why I—you're snobbish, you're irritating, you've been a completely cruel _cow_ to me and my friends for the past seven years—"

The fluttery feeling fleeted away, replaced by a burst of anger. "_Ron_—" That was a threat.

"—but I like you. I like you so much, and I don't even know why, or _how_—"

She could've hugged him. She could've snogged him. Hell, she could've shoved him to the floor and done some nasty, naughty, Slytherinny things to him.

Pansy cried on him instead.

"Wha—Parkinson—" Forgetting his tirade, he immediately wrapped his arms around her. "Don't cry. You'll make yourself uglier if you do."

"I…" She sniffed delicately. "I hoped it was you." Pansy laid her head on his undoubtedly cheap coat, and linked her arms around him tightly as well. "I _wanted _it to be you…"

"But… your date…"

She lifted her face and grinned at him. "I don't have a date, you idiot."

"But—but you said—"

"I only said that because—oh, damnit." She paused considerably, knowing that she'd never been happier as she was that night. "If you don't kiss me right now I swear I'm going to smother you with that robe."

Weasley looked confused for a second, before a smile slowly engulfed his features. "Is that a threat, Pugkinson?"

"A promise, Weasel." And with that, she drew his face to hers and snogged the living daylights out of him.

Hermione grinned as she saw Harry and Zabini, Ron and Parkinson, in various intimate positions. She had to admit, she still had reservations about those two girls, but seeing her friends with them and considering how happy they _were _was more than enough to keep her mouth shut. Of course, she'd voice her opinions if ever they asked for it but as of now… she doubted if they would.

She glanced around her, then turned quickly and focused her eyes on her friends again. _The walls, _she thought, confused. _Why on earth would they show me… and Malfoy… when he, when he—_

Someone cupped her elbow. Turning, she saw that Malfoy was also looking at the two pairs with some disdain etched on his face. "Looks like some people are having fun tonight."

She tipped her head to one side, determined to ignore the scenes playing around her. "It's amazing," she said. "I never thought—I mean, I've always thought that, of all people, Harry and Ron are the last on earth to fall for Slytherins. They just seem to despise your house for so long…"

Unexpectedly, he grinned. "I see. Does that mean _you _expected yourself to fall for a Slytherin?"

Hermione blinked. And felt color rise to her cheeks. "_Excuse me?_"

"My dance, Granger."

She stared at his offered hand. "But—the dance's still an hour from now," she muttered, cursing the fact that her heart was thumping aloud again.

"Doesn't mean we can't dance before that."

When she refused to take it, his hand moved downwards – trailing from her fingers, to her arms, to her bare shoulders, to the side of her neck. Soft, slow strokes intended to drive her out of her mind and make her breathing hitch. "I—"

"Tell you what." Malfoy edged closer to her, until he was so near his legs pushed the swell of her skirt to her knees. "I'll give you a choice. Either you dance with me or—" He placed his lips against her ear, and she felt it widen when she shivered, "—I kiss you right here, right now."

A gasp was hot and ready to emerge from her mouth. "You—you wouldn't dare." Hermione swallowed, her throat dry and constricted.

"Oh, I _would _dare, all right. Believe me." He kissed the skin below her ear. "Your call, Granger. I can only wait for so long…"

The scent of musk dulled her senses, and as her feet moved – guided by his – she felt his hand snake around her waist. It was but natural that she placed her own hand on his shoulder, and the other she curled intimately with his.

She looked at his face, saw that it was alighted by a strange, exotic smile. "What are you doing?" she asked in a low voice, coming to terms with what was happening.

"What do you mean?" He made the first move, and she echoed his movements.

"You're seducing me." The words lashed out from her in rapid succession.

An insidious chuckle emerged from him. "Is it working?"

"You—you admit it?"

"No," he said easily. "I'm not seducing you."

"You're coming on to me, then."

He squeezed her hand and, as it was possible, pulled her closer to him. "We're long past that, Granger. Don't you know?"

"What's _that_ supposed to—"

"Hush, Hermione. Enjoy the dance, will you? We can snipe at each other later, if you want."

The music was slow, soothing, and oddly hypnotic. Soon, she found herself leaning heavily on him, her head on the curve of his shoulder as if it owned it all along. With her eyes closed it was so very easy to pretend and forget – pretend that she was dancing in the arms of the man she loved, forget that in reality she was dancing in the arms of the man she hated. She listened to the rhythm and pace he created with his body, and she responded to it. She felt so relaxed and calm and safe, and her defenses crumbled as they swayed…

And just when she was at her most vulnerable, he kissed her.

The invasion of his lips on hers was as unexpected as it was uncalled for. And yet, the soft pressure and slight movements were like nothing she had experienced before. This kiss wasn't like the first two she had with him; this one was yielding, giving, delicate, fragile. It was a kiss that told her she could pull away if she wanted, that she had the power to end it much like the power he had to initiate it.

Hermione found out she didn't want to, to the dismay of her logic and delight of her heart.

She deepened his kiss, and he sensed her intentions; just like that the kiss became torrid and insistent, passionate and hard.

It left her reeling and drunk in its aftermath.

Malfoy pushed his forehead against hers until she had hers tipped and they were meeting eye to eye. "Do you have any idea," he drawled slowly, "how wrong we are for each other?"

The way he said it – low, whispered – did nothing to ease the sting of his words. "Do you?"

"I've thought about it." He lifted a hand and started playing with the stray curls of her hair. "Do you know what I've come to realize?"

"What?" Hermione hated how her voice sounded like – throaty, scratchy, needy.

"To hell with it. To hell with everything." He was smiling now, and there was nothing sinister and cruel behind it. "I've told you before, I thought we are a perfect match in every possible way. I still do. I think I always will."

Her eyes widened. _Is he… is he saying what I think he's saying? _"Malfoy—"

"Are you going to argue with the truth, Hermione?" he asked lightly.

Slowly, she shook her head.

"That's my girl." The smile became a grin. "I guess the question now is: are _you _stupid enough to let _me _go?"

Merlin help her, she was smiling in return. But she had one defense left. "You're insufferable."

"I know."

"Egotistic."

"You don't know half of it."

"Arrogant."

"Hm-hmm."

"Pompous."

"Definitely."

"Conceited."

"Of course."

"Scum."

"Hey!"

"And I absolutely _hate _you."

"Well." He kissed her on the cheek, and trailed his lips downwards… "If this is your definition of hate, then I absolutely _love _it." And with that, he kissed her again.

When she responded to him, her only giddy thought was, _Oh, yes. I hate him so. Very. Much._

Near the refreshments table, Lavender tapped Parvati on the arm. "Oh dear, I forgot to bring my brush and with my hair—can you go with me to the common room? I think I left it there."

"And miss this snog-fest?" But Parvati finally relented when she saw the vein on Lavender's forehead throb. "Okay, okay."

They walked outside the room, and just when they were turning at the corner the audible _click-clack _of high heels called their attention much more than the voice did.

"Excuse me! Yes, you two, um—can you tell me where the Graduation Ball is?"

Lavender stared at her, her mouth open. "You're—"

"—Georgiana Sinclair!" Parvati gasped.

The woman smiled thinly at them. "Yes. And the Ball?"

"It's… it's over—"

"Why are you here?" Parvati pounced. "Will the _Daily Prophet_ feature us in their next issue?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Oh wow!"

"That's brilliant!"

"Wait 'til Ginny—"

"The Ball. Where is it?" the woman snapped.

Lavender and Parvati perkily pointed the way.

"Finally," Georgiana said beneath her breath. "What a bunch of air-headed idiots."

She spotted the dimly lighted room, and thought that must be it. But before she entered, she checked her appearance to see that nothing was amiss.

After all, as Draco Malfoy's official _date_ to the Ball, she _had _to look both beautiful and presentable…

-

**Author's Notes: **Yes, I did promise you the Graduation Ball's coming… smiles Oh, my. I loved writing this part! As for the idea about the potion on the walls and the lights, I took that from my other fic, "Freedom to Become". If you haven't checked that out, please do so. It's D/Hr, don't worry. If you have, then here's a warm 'thank you!' –tackle glomps readers-

If you're wondering about the dance and what that last line in this chapter was all about, then chapter fourteen would come and explain that. After all, I'm evil, sadistic, and I can't stand to have the characters all warm and fuzzy, right? wicked grin Please be on the lookout for that, as the end is drawing near… ;) Thank you very much for reading, and see you next chapter!


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_**Divine Humiliation**_

"In the mood for showing off?"

"Are you? Wait." She grinned. "Stupid question."

"I take that as a yes, then." He smirked at her. "Good. It's time we show these idiots how this dance is _really_ done."

He slipped an arm around her waist, his palm falling into contact with the soft fabric of her gown. She positioned her hand against his, their fingers curled in each other's. He then prompted her other hand to land around his shoulders, just to bring her closer. She cocked her head to one side, but a smile played on her lips. "You do realize thisis _not_ how Flitwick taught us to hold each other, don't you? I remember there was much more space between us than this."

He moved his thumb against her skin. "I really don't think he'll interfere with us _now_, seeing as we're about to do 'The Dance'. Or, as I call it, 'The-torture-a-bitter-Flitwick-inflicted-on-us-since-none-of-the-Ravenclaws-were-valedictorians' routine."

"There's a mouthful." But she was laughing.

"Yes. Well." He shrugged. "I would've also christened this dance 'The-bane-of-my-existence', but that title's reserved for _you_."

"Now I feel _so_ special," she said dryly.

Draco grinned widely. "Want to know what I gave to Weasley and Potter?"

Granger shook her head, and mock-glared at him. "It's not like I have a choice. You're going to tell me anyway."

"Damn straight!" He winked at her. "I gave them names along the lines of a leprechaun and a doormat...well, not in that order but"

"I won't even ask the reason behind all this, since I sense there'd be no sense in it!"

"Whoever said there was any sense in it at all? We're talking about Weasley and Potter here. Sense has no place _in_ them."

"Oh, do shut up." Granger looked past him, then quickly met his eye. "Flitwick's looking at us strangely. He noticed! I knew it… oh, if we get in trouble for this—"

"But don't you see?" Draco lifted a brow at her. "We _are_. We've been in trouble from the very beginning. You can even say we caused it ourselves."

The look on her face told him she completely understood what he was alluding to. "Only because _you_ started it!"

He smiled patronizingly. "You could've easily ignored everything I did to you."

"What, and miss the opportunity to put you in place?"

"Or miss the opportunity to be in contact with me every now and then, you mean?" He shrugged again. " I reckon women _do_ have difficulty in going against the thought—"

"Cocky bastard." Granger hit him again. "I knew there's a reason I hate you."

"Well of course there's a reason! You're Hermione Granger. You have a reason for _everything._ But as for the hate part…" He placed his mouth close to her ear, and spoke softly to it. "You hate me so much you're willing to be caught with me like this. You hate me so much you're going to express everything you feel about me through this dance. Won't you?" He leaned back and stared at her eyes. The look he sent her was something he knew she couldn't resist – after all, it _was _a challenge, and a challenge was something she could never refuse.

Especially if the challenge came from _him_.

"Will you?" she shot back without hesitation.

Draco opted for a wounded expression. "You're talking to a _Malfoy_. Don't mock me, woman!"

She grinned widely. "Then what are we waiting for?"

When Flitwick clapped, the beginnings of the familiar music haunted the room. Draco looked around him to see that all the dancing pairs were in position already. He and Granger were placed at the very middle, and the onslaught of lights from the ceiling heightened their visibility, which meant that the attention of the audience would be mostly focused on _them_.

Which was where it _should _be, anyway.

Seconds later, their dance started.

It began with a simple sway of the hips, the simple movement of the feet. Then, it evolved into something more, something potent and passionate and powerful. There was rhythm and flare and pulse and everything was alive. Every sway was made with gusto and every movement was coupled with delight. The dance was life in itself; it had freedom and exuberance and pleasure in what it celebrated.

Draco stepped away from her, and not letting go of her right hand he twirled her once, twice, thrice. Granger followed the movements fluidly, her every step an echo and an equal to his. He mellowed a bit as he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him, and she arched her back as he lowered her in a dip. Pulling her up, he then placed his hands on the sides of her hips, and they swayed together three times to the left, three times to the right.

He dared to take this dance with her further and it was fiery, intense.

She matched his moves with hers and it was explosive, dynamic.

They turned and twisted, stepped and bended. Draco had time to look around him, and noticed that no pair danced as well as they did. He grinned, bent to her ear when he had the chance, and told her so.

She chuckled. "Always this humble, Malfoy?"

"Of course. It's one of the things you hate in me, remember?"

Granger turned in his arms, and when she had both her arms locked around his neck she said, "I believe I term it 'egotistic' and 'conceited' then."

"It's the same thing. Basically." And he dipped her again.

The dance was similar to the one they had practiced a million times, but the ambiance and atmosphere in the Great Hall helped in infusing it with drama and force. The fast feats were executed with more energy and the slow swings were done with more fervor. All the students were smiling; all were energetic and vibrant and _alive _in their dance

At the end of the routine, everyone was breathing heavily. Everyone was drained of energy.

And yet everyone was utterly pleased with what they had accomplished.

"Excellent, excellent, _excellent_!" Dumbledore exclaimed as he stood in front. He clapped and smiled and his eyes twinkled more than it usually did. "I am most proud of how beautiful you all have performed tonight. You did your best, and it was splendid! That dance is certainly something extraordinary. Well done, well done all of you!"

The professors all smiled at the students, whistling and cheering as they did. Even Snape seemed to be in a jovial mood; even if he wasn't smiling there was serenity on his face that before meant either him imagining life without Gryffindors or life without Harry Potter. He was probably thinking of it right now – especially after seeing the lot of them dance - but…

Dumbledore continued. "I would like to personally thank our wonderful Professor Flitwick and Professor Trelawney, for guiding these students not only in their respective subjects but also in this part of the ball… this dance wouldn't be possible hadn't they contributed their creativity and ingenuity! Splendid work!"

And the clapping sounds grew louder, especially when the miniscule professor did a shy little wave.

"And so…" Dumbledore smiled as the noise died down. "With the routine part of the Ball over, I now invite you to enjoy yourselves for the rest of the evening. There is an abundant supply of food and drinks and music, and as I am very sure you are all aware of tonight being the last night of your stay in Hogwarts…"

There was a sudden stillness in the room, as though everyone had been too caught up in the thrill of the moment to realize that, indeed, it was officially their last night together, as a class, as students. Draco felt Granger sneak her hand in his, and he squeezed it. She squeezed in return.

"Allow me to impart a few words to you all, my dear students. Along with the good things that had happened to us, there were… _occurrences_, shall I say, that threatened to divide us. But they did not become hindrances to our triumphs. We were able to overcome these problems, and in so doing we proved our strength, our faith… our _courage_."

Draco kept himself from rolling his eyes. Trust Dumbledore to put the goody-goody Gryffindors into the spotlight!

"These past seven years have been very painful and pleasurable to all of us, and, like all things they, too, must come to a conclusion. Tomorrow, such an end will come to us. Tomorrow, another chapter in your lives will be fulfilled and closed. However, tomorrow is still hours away. As tonight is a night for your dreams and fantasies, for your every desire and wish… let us celebrate this moment. Let us be happy and enjoy this night. Let us make this a night to remember for all of us!"

And there were cheers and whistles and claps again.

The night was alive once more.

"Dumbledore's such a spoilsport, don't you think?" Draco asked as they went to get their drinks. He gritted his teeth and shoved Thomas away when he thought the Gryffindor was getting too close for comfort.

Granger didn't seem to notice the commotion around them. "He's just keeping everything real," she said softly, tugging at his hand and catching his attention. "I mean—if he didn't say it I wouldn't even realize that—"

"No, I wasn't talking about _that_," he said. "I meant the part about him—"

"Hermione!"

Draco turned around and saw Weasley running towards them. The red-haired sod moved so fast he hadn't enough time to execute his plan of casually placing his foot out and tripping the bastard.

Damn. That would've topped an already perfect evening.

And now the red-haired sod was hugging Draco's date. Oh, _frickin' great. Plunge a knife into me and twist it, why don't you?_

"Ron!" said Granger. _Would it kill her to not gush?_ "Ron! Hi! Wow, you look absolutely—"

"Hideous?" piped Draco helpfully. "Ugly? Dreadful?"

But no one was really paying attention to him, or to his growing list of adjectives for the red-haired sod.

_Damn it._

"—great! You look absolutely great!" Granger hugged him again. "I would've gone and told you that earlier but you were too busy with… something else." She pinned him with a very meaningful look. "Or should I say, _someone _else."

Weasley's ears turned purple, and let out a strangled chortle. "Yes, well, about that… see, I was—"

"Yes?" Granger coaxed, a sly look on her face. "Anything you might want to share?"

"Heh, erm, I—"

"Hermione! Ron!"

"Harry!"

"Harry! Mate! Thank _Merlin!_"

Cue the girly gushes, coming mostly from Weasley and Potter's general directions.

_Gag me, _Draco thought spitefully, watching as the Golden Trio reunited. _Someone put me out of my misery and kill me NOW._

"Did you see us dance?" asked Potter, puffing out his pathetic chest in a pathetic effort to draw attention to his pathetic person.

"'Us'?" asked Granger, smiling hugely after untangling herself from Potter's unattractive grasp. "You mean you and Zabini?"

"Well…" Potter pushed up his glasses and drew Draco's attention to his ghastly hair and—_wait, what the—is that _gel _on his hair? No! NO! NOOO!_

_That is _it_. Will not use any more gel from now on. _

_Damn you Potter! Damn you for killing the attractiveness of hair gel on men!_

"Sorry, didn't see you at all Harry," said Weasley, winking at Granger before turning back to Potter. "Zabini's arms were all around you I wasn't able to distinguish which parts were yours and which ones weren't."

"Well – hehabout that, I was, um—" Then Potter grinned. "Never mind that. You should've seen that part where I—"

Draco had had enough. "We didn't see that part, Potter, nor would we care if we did," he said calmly, taking his rightful place at Granger's side. "We were too engrossed in doing the dance ourselves since – don't you know? We _all _did it. Not just you. That gel on your hair doesn't really make you any better—"

"Go away, Malfoy," said Weasley readily.

"Oh, I will, believe me - but I'll be taking Granger with me."

"What? What—"

"No!"

"Don't! Hermione—"

"So, I take it you don't want her to leave?" He gave them his special blend of a smile full of promised pain and suffering. "I have an idea. Since we're forced to spend this time together, let's have this fake conversation where you pretend to worship me and I pretend I don't want to grab your throats, all right?" He leveled his gaze against this sod, as well as the other sod. "Enjoying the dance, you two?"

"We were," said Potter gamely. "Until about three seconds ago. Amazing how everything was ruined the moment you appeared."

"Malfoy, Harry, Ron—"

"I'm hurt you think that way, Potter. I thought… I thought that we're all _friends_ here."

Weasley and Potter looked absolutely horrified at the notion.

It made Draco feel a bit better that _he _was the one who evoked the scarred expressions on those scarred faces.

"I'll say it again, Malfoy: Sod. Off!"

"Actually Weasley, your idiotic memory is failing you. What you told me was—"

"There you are!"

A hand slipped in the crook of Weasley's arm, and Pansy, a not-so-horrifying vision in lilac, appeared at his side. She sent Draco and Granger a slightly belligerent look before she gave her full attention to Weasley. "I thought you left me. You just disappeared without as much as a word."

Instantly, Weasley's face contorted to one filled with contrite. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. "I—"

Draco chuckled and sent Pansy an approving glance. "Sure did whip him fast, Pansy."

"Shut UP!"

Pansy flipped her hair and smiled. "Of course. Don't mock me, Draco."

"Finally got what you wanted, didn't you."

She gave him and Granger a sly look. "Could say the same to you."

He casually, possessively, slipped a hand at Granger's lower back. "You could."

"What's _that _supposed to mean?" demanded Potter, eyes bulging _through_ his glasses.

"Heh!" That muffled, nervous sound came from Granger. "Yes, well, about that… see, we were—"

"Coming through, coming through!" Blaise emerged from between Pansy and Granger, pushed a full glass of sparkling, bubbling blue liquid to Potter, and kept one tall glass for herself. "Having a bit of a Slytherin/Gryffindor convention here, I see!" She gave everyone a fleeting glance. "What are you all talking about, huh? What? What did I miss?"

"Nothing," Granger was quick to say.

"_Nothing?_" Blaise asked. "Not even the fact that Harry and I kissed?" She turned to him. "Did you not tell them?"

"Well – hehabout that, I was, um—"

"Do not corrupt us with filthy images," Draco snapped. "I, for one, would like to sleep tonight without horrifying visions for dreams!"

Three heads vigorously nodded their assent.

"Fine. Whatever. Let's talk about something else." Blaise drank first before she opened her big fat mouth. "Pansy and Weasley kissed. So did Draco and Granger. Anyone want to comment on that?"

Everybody froze and was afraid to look at the others in the eye.

Draco just _knew _he wasn't the only one thinking of Blaise in a severely excruciating and potentially fatal situation.

She giggled, blissfully unaware of the murderous plots hatching against her. "Dare I say that love is _so _all around us tonight? Cheers!" And in a single gulp she emptied the contents of her glass into her throat and senses.

"Um, Harry—" Granger _still_ had that nervous quality in her voice as she spoke. "How many drinks have Zabini consumed for tonight?"

"Not drunk if that's your point, Granger," defended Blaise, glaring at her.

"Of course you're not, because _only _those people who aren't really drunk will ever admit that they're drunk already!" snapped Weasley.

Draco rubbed his chin. "I don't believe _anyone _can sense some sense in what you said," he said to Weasley. "_I _certainly don't know where to start looking."

"Shut UP!" Pansy shrieked, right before Weasley opened his mouth.

"How many glasses _did _you have, Blaise?" asked Potter in that annoying, obnoxious, knight-about-to-rescue-a-damsel-in-distress tone.

Blaise fondly patted his cheek. "Don't worry, luv. I'll give you the signal once I'm out of my mind drunk. Of course, it _could _get mixed up with the 'I'm-ready-to-be-taken-to-bed-and-in-any-which-way-you-want' signal, but—"

Four faces screwed dramatically at once.

"Disgusting!" exclaimed Weasley.

"Stop it!" hissed Pansy.

"Harry!" cried Granger.

"You evil, conniving woman," swore Draco with deep and true conviction.

Potter just chuckled nervously and stupidly and blushed.

"Speaking of evil, conniving women…" Blaise took Harry's drink and sipped from it, before giving him her empty one, "Georgiana's here to see you, Draco."

And suddenly all eyes were on Draco.

And suddenly there was that ugly, throbbing feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"Who?" asked Granger.

"She's that reporter from _The_ _Daily Prophet_, isn't she?" said Weasley, for once displaying his knowledge about something in his life.

"The one and only," answered Blaise in between sips.

"What is she doing here?"

"You know her?"

Pansy raised her brow at Granger's question. "Of course _I do_. Georgiana's a few years ahead of us and since she graduated ages ago I can't imagine why—"

"_I_ certainly can't imagine what she was thinking when she chose to wear that awful pink ruffles at _our _Ball." Blaise grimaced and shivered. "So hideous! Gah! Pink!"

"If she's a reporter, then she might be doing a story for _The Daily Prophet_," Potter pointed out. "Maybe it's her—"

"But _why _would she wear that awful pink—"

"So, is her family a _royal_ pureblooded one?" Granger wanted to know.

Pansy shook her head. "Oh _no. _Their family's not _that _old, but they're rich enough to associate with my family as well as Draco's. I think… no, I _know_, that my mother likes her very much. Draco's mother is also very fond of Georgiana. She's a hit with old women, because her writing is _so_—well, old, or something."

"I—I see, I think," said Granger in a small, strangled voice. "But why would—"

"I really don't see why we should be focusing our attention on one measly reporter," Draco said, taking Granger's cold and clammy hand in his. "Tell you what, why don't we just—"

"Oh, but Draco, she's looking for you," Blaise told him. "Didn't I say that out loud?"

"Did you tell her I'm here?"

"And get in touch with her god-awful pink ruffles? No thank you! I'd rather—"

"_Blaise_—"

"No, no." Blaise shook her head. "I didn't talk to her. I just overheard her talking to a couple of students, asking where you are."

Granger looked up at him. "Maybe you should go see why she's here," she told him. "Maybe it's important."

"Maybe she wants to do an interview on you and your ambition of modeling for _Witch Weekly_," sniggered Weasley.

"Shut up, doormat!" But what the bastard said made some sort of sense… for once.

Weasley looked taken aback. "What? What did you—that's not even—"

"Just go." Granger gave him a little push.

Draco relented. "All right, I'll see what the fuss is about." And absently, he dropped a kiss on her cheek. "I'll be right back."

"See? See? They kissed! _Now _we can ask Granger—"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he heard Potter demand.

"Hermione!" shrieked Weasley. "What the bloody hell—"

"Well – hehabout that, I was, um—"

And, even with the throbbing pain in his stomach, a smile blessed Draco's face as he thought of how Granger would attempt to explain their… _predicament _to her friends.

Finding the reporter wasn't _that _difficult. All Draco had to do was look for the person wearing the – according to Blaise – God-awful pink ruffles and he'd see her.

True enough, there she was.

And so were the god-awful pink ruffles she was wearing. _Hideous! Ugly! Dreadful!_

"Draco!" Georgiana exclaimed, spreading her arms wide in welcome. "Sorry I was late, but—" She shook her purse. "Had to do some notes on your dance for the next edition – my assignment, you know, because—"

As if he cared about _that. _"Why are you looking for me? I'm not ready for that interview, damn it! I _told _you I'd contact you if ever—"

"What? What are you talking about?"

He blinked. "My interview, in the— I mean – isn't that why you're here?"

"No!" She frowned. "Don't you know?"

"Know what?" Draco looked around him, then grabbed Georgiana by the arm and pulled her out of the Great Hall. They only stopped when they were out of anyone's earshot. "If you're not here about that then why _are_ you here?"

She was still for a few seconds, before she sighed. "Oh, _no,_" Georgiana said, shaking her head. "I can't believe—I mean, when I talked to—"

"_Sinclair_—"

"Your mother sent me here, Draco," Georgiana said, looking at him straight in the eye. "She told me about your situation and—"

_His mother. _

That throbbing pain in his stomach became a sickening ache.

"My situation?"

Georgiana nodded. "She sent me a note, then saw me a few days later, and—"

"What did my mother tell you?" he demanded, his voice low, flat.

"She said that—"

Suddenly, there was a creaking sound somewhere from their left. Draco looked at the direction the noise came from, and winced.

Oh, _bloody hell._

This just kept getting better and better.

_Why won't someone just kill me and be done with it?_

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, pretend I'm not here, I'm just—"

"Ah, Miss Granger," said Georgiana coolly, as she stepped away from him. "My, don't you look lovely tonight."

She took her hands off her face. "Miss… Sinclair," she muttered in response. "Malfoy. There you are." Granger drew her brows together, pursed her lips, then approached him. "I—"

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, the nerves in him making his voice sharper. "I told you I'll—"

"I was looking for you. The professors, they want us to—"

"I believe," said Georgiana, "that you will have to wait a while. See, Draco and I are having a conversation. A very _private _one, and you're intruding."

"Oh. I'm _really _sorry." Granger frowned, then glanced at him. "All right. Fine. I'll just be at the—"

"He'll look for you if he wants to." The smile Georgiana sent her was especially meaningful. "_If._" She then grabbed his hand and held it.

Draco glared at the woman and pulled his hand free. My, she was behaving worse than a clinging, whining Pansy! "I think our conversation is done," he said curtly. "Come on, Granger."

They were about to leave when Georgiana spoke. "Is this the way you treat your _date, _Draco? You just leave me around while"

That one word froze them on their tracks.

And suddenly there was a roar of sudden silence that screamed in his head. "My _what_?"

"Your date. That's what I am. That's why I'm here."

Draco winced again as he noticed that Granger had become so still and silent, he wondered if she was still breathing. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Of course you know what I'm talking about, _luv._ Didn't you ask me yourself?" Georgiana fanned out her fingers. "I received your letter, you know. I have it if _you_ want proof." She looked at Granger as she said this.

"What? _What?_ Bloody—"

"Did you?" The quiet question came from Granger, but she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were affixed somewhere at their feet.

"Yes, he did." Georgiana flashed her teeth again. "Don't tell me, Miss Granger, that you actually _expected _yourself to _be_ Draco's date for this ball. Why, I can't imagine why you would think that! Then again—"

"Shut _up, _Sinclair!" Draco snapped. He then grabbed Granger's arm. "Listen, Hermione, it's not—"

She whipped around to face him, and on her lips was a tight, tight smile. "Why don't you," Granger pushed through thin lips, "just go to _hell_." And she tugged her arm free and walked away from him.

Just like that.

"Huh, what lovely manners _she _has," huffed Georgiana.

Draco started to follow Granger, then remembered their audience and stopped. "I'll deal with you later," he gritted out. Then he ran.

He had no idea how she was able to move so quickly, but it took him a few minutes before he found out where she was. She stood just outside the locked Charms classroom, her back against the closed door and her face cradled in her hands.

Ironically, they were back where everything started. "Granger—"

"So this is it, then," she said softly, looking up and away from him.

"This is—what are you—"

Granger pushed herself off the door, but the dark halls prevented him from seeing her full expression – only her silhouette. "I should've expected something like this from you," she said, her voice harsh. "I just wonder why didn't you do a formal announcement? Like, 'Here, I present to you, my _true _date to this Ball – Miss Georgiana Sinclair! Ha! Eat your heart out, Granger!'" She laughed, the sound severe and spiteful. "Wouldn't that be _funny_? Wouldn't that just _humiliate _me to the point of—"

"Granger—"

"Want to hear something even funnier?" Granger advanced to him, then pushed him with both hands. He almost stumbled. "I'm _stupid_. That's right. I admit it. I'm stupid – stupid enough to trust you, to let you manipulate me like this!"

"I—"

"You must wonder why I trusted you in the first place. The idea's so laughable that—" She shook her head. "Why? Why did I trust _you_, the Almighty Draco Malfoy?" She pushed him again. "Because I thought that a near-death experience on your part would've changed you somehow – but did it? _Did _it? Of course _not_! Who the hell was I kidding? Why on earth would someone like _you _change?"

Draco took a deep breath, trying to think of a way to calm her down… but the hurt in her voice was too damn much for him, and— "Stop pushing me!" He tried to catch her hands, but she was fast enough to evade him.

"Did you know that I _also _planned on humiliating you tonight?" she rasped out, her voice low and trembling. "Yes, that's right. I planned on bringing you to your knees one last time, because, hey – last chance to do so! But after seeing you all bloodied and bruised that night… the thought _never_ crossed my mind again. Until this moment. Until I realized that you—that all along—" Granger lifted her hand and pointed at him. "I should've continued with it. Damnit, I _should've _done something to you tonight, so at least I'm not the only one reeling from this blow. _I should've hurt you_!"

"Then do it," Draco finally said, moving towards her. She stepped back, but he could feel the heat of her glare. He'd been at the receiving end of it for too damn long that he knew too well what it felt like. He grabbed her shoulders, and she fought to free herself, but his determination prevailed – his hold remained. "Do it, why don't you? If that's what will take you to believe—"

"Do you honestly think," she spat, ceasing her actions completely, "that I will believe you after this? _Never again_. I'm done with it. I'm done making a fool out of myself. I'm done with _you_." Granger spoke calmly, directly, to his eyes. "Let me go."

"Granger—"

"I _said_ – let me go."

He did. Reluctantly, he released her and stepped back. Draco looked at her directly; now that she was out of the dark halls he noted the thin trail of tears on both her cheeks. _Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it! _"I'll have you know," he said loudly, "that I never planned on anything like this to happen tonight. What I _had _in mind was to have such great fun—"

"Oh, at my expense? How thoughtful of you."

"No, you thickheaded woman, I—" He shoved his hand through his hair. "Look. You're being irrational and—"

"_I'm_ beingirrational? How dare you! How dare—"

_I'm handling this wrong. Damnitdamnitdamnit!_ "Let me finish, for once!" he shouted. "I _never_ had any part in Georgiana being here. I _didn't_ know why she was, or who sent her—I only found out when she said that—"

She didn't speak, but the disbelieving, scathing look on her face didn't disappear.

"Believe me," he said low. "You _have_ to believe me when I say I've no plans of humiliating you tonight. I didn't plan this! I didn't want to hurt you!"

"Too bad. You did."

Why didn't she believe him? Why would she even think that— couldn't she see that she was _not _the only one reeling from all these? His night was ruined, damnit! She wasn't the only person angry at this sudden turn of events! "I told you I am _not _responsible for this," he told her tightly. "That's the truth."

Granger cocked her head to one side. "Why do I find that hard to believe? Oh, I know. Because you're a _liar._"

Draco took a sharp intake of breath. He was getting sick of her accusations. "And you're an idiot," he snapped. "Of course, I knew that from the beginning."

"Bastard!" she hissed. "You admit it, then?"

"No. But I sure as hell won't try to convince you any longer." He shrugged. "It's _your _problem that you don't believe me. Your loss."

Her eyes flashed. "If this is your way of apologizing—"

"Why? Why do I have to apologize? I've done nothing! Don't you understand?"

"No," she retorted. "I don't. Would you care to elaborate? Or at least, be _honest_?"

"Fine. _Fine._ You want honesty? Well here it is!" He spread his arms wide. "You said you planned on humiliating me tonight, didn't you? Well, guess what – _I _did, too. But contrary to what you think, I _did _change the night I got attacked. When I heard Nott saying out loud how he planned to hurt _you, _did you think I relished the feeling? I got scared, dammit – for you. I didn't know why, or what it meant at that time, but now that I _do_, I wonder if I'm better off not knowing." Draco glared at her. "You say you don't believe me? Then be _stupid_ and continue with it. I know you well enough to realize nothing I say will make you change your mind."

They stood there, staring at each other for a few seconds. Draco hung his head, and willed his feet to move away – but it wouldn't. Granger was breathing rather loudly, a few muffled sobs escaping from her once in a while.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it._

Finally, she moved. His attention was caught when a very audible snap echoed in the hallway.

"Here."

Draco looked down. There, lying on his feet, were the necklace and the corsage he gave her earlier. He didn't say a word, didn't lift his eyes.

Granger took off her earrings and threw them at his feet as well. "Good night," she said through clenched teeth. "I had _such _a lovely time. Thank you." And she turned on her heels and slowly walked away from him.

When she broke into a run and disappeared around a corner, Draco muffled a stream of curses and closed his eyes. He opened them again, slowly, reluctantly. The rubies on the necklace and earrings gleamed brilliantly, mocking him. The sweet scent of the flowers on the corsage wafted easily through his senses, taunting him.

He left them lying on the cold, hard floor.

Someone was bound to throw them away later.

There was very little sense in going back to the Graduation Ball. His night was most effectively _ruined_ – there was very little sense in doing anything else except—

"I knew you'd be here."

_Wrong move, Sinclair._

"Should've gotten yourself out when I gave you the chance," he stated, looking dully at the portrait that guarded the Slytherin common room.

Georgiana glanced at the direction he came from, then at him. "What happened?"

Draco chuckled. "Wouldn't you want to know? You reporters always have the twisted desire to know everything, don't you?"

She adjusted the ruffles on her dress. "Listen, I—this isn't my fault."

"Of course it isn't."

She winced. "It's not like that. I—the reason I'm here is because I've been assigned to write an article on your—"

"And in your article," said Draco in a harsh tone, "do you have to say that _you're _my date to this Ball? Or is that just to spice things up a little bit?"

"It was your mother who said I should—" Georgiana paused. "Draco. Listen to me. Your mother sent me here to save you from having to take that Granger woman tonight. Your parents, oh, you should've seen how worried Narcissa was when I saw her! She insisted that I go here to check if that Mudbl—"

"I'd be _very_ careful if I were you." The words were said in a singsong, menacing voice.

"But don't you see?" Georgiana gripped his arm. "She must've manipulated you to take her to the Ball! That's the only reason why—"

Draco laughed. "Want to hear something funny?" He carefully laid his hand over hers. "_I _was the one who manipulated her into coming with me."

"What? No, that's—"

"Didn't you even stop to think that there _was_ actually a reason she's the Gryffindor and I'm the _Slytherin_? You underestimate me, Sinclair. Your Ravenclaw traits are failing you." He squeezed her hand rather painfully. "I suggest that you leave immediately, before I _manipulate _someone into dragging you out. Plus, you can just forget that interview I promised you and – Georgiana?" He used his saccharine voice – the one that promised torment. "If you ever – _ever_ – mention anything about this incident in your article I will personally see to it that you won't be able to write anything again. Do I make myself clear?"

Georgiana bit her lip, then pulled her hand free and rubbed it. She smiled pathetically – but he can sense the fear beneath it. "Dear boy, I guess nobody ever told you that you shouldn't be threatening reporters, especially those working for _The Daily Prophet _like me. The pen _is _mightier than the sword, after all."

Draco sneered. "And I guess you didn't understand what I said, so let me put it this way: I was having the perfect night until you arrived. You spoiled my Graduation Ball, Sinclair – that basically gives me every right to spoil your life, if I ever choose to." He did a mock bow. "Good night, Georgiana, luv. I had _such _a good time, thank you." And he left the reporter.

The Slytherin common room was dismal, deserted, and desolate – perfect words to describe how Draco felt. There were some dying embers on the fireplace, giving the place a fiery glow. He sat on a chair, stared at the fire until his eyes hurt. Draco loosened his tie and adjusted his sleeves, then halted his movements altogether and just sat, numbed, on the chair.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it._

He sat like that for an indefinite period of time, watching as the fire roared then died then soared again, thinking of how the night started, how the night held so much promise… then came that stupid, _stupid _Sinclair and that stupid, _stupid _Granger's reaction and how _stupid _it was that he felt absolutely guilty for hurting her when in fact he had no fault in it at all.

It was ironic. How long had they been going at each other's throats, hoping to rip it apart? How long had they shred each other's reputation, each other's pride, hoping that this revenge would hurt the other like hell? And now… the one act that hurt her the most was the one thing he didn't do.

And it was hurting him, too.

Damn it, damn it, damn it! 

"Well of course I'm annoyed, I mean it's _our _night and—oh, all right. _All right! _Just go and I'll wait for you. Here. Go!"

Draco glanced at the door and found Pansy coming in. She clutched her chest when she saw him. "What the—don't do that!" she said. "You scared me half to death! What are you—" Then she frowned. "Where's Granger? Don't tell me she's in here!"

He didn't answer.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, you look like someone died and you just cried in front of people and—oh, wait, you already did that." Pansy smiled, then cursed when not even a flicker of emotion showed on him. "What's the matter with you? Didn't I just see you in your cocky bastard self not more than an hour ago?"

"Ball's over?"

"No," she answered, watching him like a hawk. "But Ron decided to look for his darling Hermione because he was worried about her when you didn't bring her back."

Draco gritted his teeth. "Then tell your darling Weasley to look for her in hell because that's probably where she is."

Pansy lifted a brow. "This—this has got something to do with Georgiana being here?"

He looked at her, but didn't say a word.

She sighed loudly. "Draco—"

Loud giggles disrupted her from saying anything more.

"Why you little—tell you what, I'll be back, I'll just get—no, don't you dare, Harry Potter! Just stay there and I'll—" Blaise giggled and walked in. "Oh! You're both here. I—" Then, in all her drunken stupor she managed to see that there was something brewing in the air. "What's wrong? What happened?" She looked around. "Where're Granger and Weasley? Don't tell me you two brought them _in _here!" She looked highly disgusted at the thought.

Pansy glared at her. "Of course not. Ron's not here, and Draco here has a problem."

Blaise sympathetically laid a hand over his. "You've seen Sinclair's dress, haven't you?" She shook her head. "I'm telling you, there's something clinically wrong with just—"

Draco snatched his hand away. "Shut up," he said tiredly. "Get out, you two." He closed his eyes. _Damn it, why didn't I go directly to _my _room? Why am I here?_

The situation's muddling his ability to think logically and it was driving him insane. _And if these two won't stop with the totally fake concern I—_

"Ron!" Potter's voice clearly floated through the open door. "What—why are you—"

Weasley said something incomprehensible.

"What? _What? _Malfoy did _what_?"

Warning bells resounded in Draco's head while the two girls exchanged alarmed looks.

"Malfoy!" Weasley bellowed, stepping inside the Slytherin common room. When he saw the object of his search, his ears purpled deeper and, as it was possible, he became even more incomprehensible. "WhatthehelldidyoudotoHermioneyoudisgustinggit! She'scryinginherroombecauseofwhoknowswhatyoudidand—"

Pansy went to her. "Ron," she said, "slow down, _they _can't understand—"

Draco stared at him, impassive.

But Potter caught on. "Ron, Hermione… she's crying?"

"Yes!" And Weasley pointed at him. "Andallbecauseofsomethingthisferretdid!"

Potter pinned on him a murderous glare. "That is _it. _You've crossed the line, Malfoy."

Blaise approached him and took his hand. "Come on, Harry, I know that—well, actually I _don't_ know what the hell's going on, but—"

"HehurtHermione! That'swhatthehell'sgoingon!"

"Shut up, Weasley, you're not helping!"

"WHAT," said Potter, managing to capitalize all his letters without as much as moving a muscle, "DID YOU DO TO HERMIONE?"

"Nothing," answered Draco calmly, challenging the two with his eyes. "I did _nothing _to her, and that's the truth."

"Ha! That'ssuchalieyoudisgusting—"

"I SWEAR I WILL BEAT YOU DOWN IF YOU DON'T—"

"This has been a rather repetitive night," Draco drawled, drawing himself to his feet. "I'm retiring to my room. Good night."

Then Weasley made the mistake of grabbing Draco's shoulder. "What the bloody _hell _do you think you're—"

And suddenly he was facing the pointy end of Draco's pointy wand.

"Draco!" shrieked Blaise.

"Ron!" cried Pansy.

"Back off, Weasley," he muttered, deadly calm. "If you want to graduate tomorrow then _back off._" Draco then shoved Weasley to the ground. "You too, Potter," he added, when he noticed the other boy reaching for his wand. "Don't want you to die _now _after everything you've been through, right?"

"Lower your wand Draco," said Blaise, the slur in her voice disappearing. "_Please._"

Pansy ran to the Gryffindor, concern written all over her face. "Ron, Ron, are you all right? Did he—"

"You're going to pay for this, Malfoy," swore Potter, his palms balled to fists.

Draco just smirked at him. "Funny, but with how this night ended… I think I already have."

**Author's Notes: **As I replied to a reader when she asked for a summary of this chapter, "Chapter 14's going from good to bad for Draco and Hermione…" Some of you… well, I know most of you already hate me, so… do you hate me more, after reading this chapter? Sorry, couldn't help but spin the story around… hehe. Sorry! ;-)

So… it's been almost a year already when I first published this story! To be honest, I was really aiming for this story as a one-shot but you gave such good reviews they boosted me to continue. So now, here we are… and I'm so glad we're almost done with this journey! Woohoo! Happy one year anniversary, everybody! –throws confetti around—

Last chapter, ladies and gentlemen. Just one more chapter and we're done… hehe, I can't wait! What _would _happen to Draco and Hermione? Who knows? But I hope I'll see you when it happens!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Divine Humiliation**

**_… where parting is such a long, sweet sorrow_**

Graduation marked a big step towards liberation and freedom. It meant the end of an era and the beginning of a new world: a day when past and present exploded with laughter, tears, promises, and farewells. It was considered a momentous event in all wizards and witches' lives, as it affirmed the maturity not only of their bodies but also of their minds.

No wonder they were buzzing with excitement all over the school, each one filled with a curious mixture of anticipation and anxiety. There were those who spent the entire morning writing little mementos to their friends and brandishing little gifts that would be remembered for a lifetime. There were those who spent the entire morning making rounds, greeting and hugging people for the last time. There were those who spent the entire morning perfecting themselves, wanting to look their very best as the final moment neared.

_Then _there were those who were still in bed, doing a spectacular job of trying to forget the existence of certain cold-blooded Slytherin bastards from hell. Which wasn't an easy thing to do, despite its sound.

Hermione was certain she could do it. She was positive she could do it. She was optimistic she could do it.

If only she had some carving knives that could do one hell of halving a certain bastard's head, and-

"Hermione!"

"Granger!"

-a peaceful and quiet place where people who knew her name need not shout it at the top of their lungs.

She glared at the door. Obviously, the three thick pillows on top of her head weren't enough to filter these noises out.

Why in Merlin's name couldn't she have a moment to herself? She didn't really need this. Last night's hounding by her two self-proclaimed bodyguards were more than enough, and now-

"Open the door, quick! We don't have much time-"

"Stop scratching me with your wickedly sharp yet elegantly painted nails! My mistress is still asleep, and-"

"Asleep? _Asleep?_ That's impossible! Doesn't she know what time it is already?" A pause. "But thank you for the compliment. If you must know, I used an oil-based type coat on-"

"Hermione Granger! Open this door now or I swear I'll-"

"Don't pound on me too much, ladies! I have a fragile frame, and-"

"I'll _show_ you pounding if you don't open this thing in-"

Then Hermione opened the door.

And the two girls were rendered speechless at how extremely, audaciously, so very awfully _bad_ her hair looked.

Lavender almost suffered a stroke as she clutched at her chest in horror. "Her-mi-o-ne-!"

"I'm not interested," she said stiffly.

Parvati opened her mouth, closed it, then articulately said, "What?"

"You do realize what today _is_, don't you?" Lavender demanded, having recovered from her shock. "You just wait, here's my magic brush-"

"I'm _not_ interested."

"But-but-but-"

"You can't go out like that!" cried Parvati in desperation. "You're the valedictorian! You'll be seen by other people! You'll be in the cover of the _Daily Prophet! _You'll-"

"What about _Malfoy_? He'll-"

Then Hermione unceremoniously slammed the door on their faces.

The act was enough to shock them into silence for approximately three seconds.

"Ha!" spat Parvati, shooting daggers at the door. "And Happy Graduation to you too!"

The damsel sent sympathetic looks on them. "You have to forgive my mistress," she said. "She's… well, not quite herself this morning."

"As usual," snarled Parvati.

Lavender shook her head. "She was on her way," she whispered. "Didn't you see? She was almost a woman. Then she turned around and now - she's a savage again. Woe, Hermione! Woe, woe! Woe for the feminine side of you begging for attention! Woe for the unused makeup that should've graced your pretty face! Woe!"

When a few minutes elapsed and still no response came from the other side of the room, Lavender shrugged and said, "Yeah, well, didn't think that'd work." At Parvati's astonished look she muttered, "What? It was worth a shot!"

Parvati sighed, resigned. "She's _just _so stubborn. Why in Merlin's name is she so stubborn?"

"Ah, well, she _is _Hermione, and I believe _Hermione _is the Latin root word of _stubborn_. Also, a word synonymous to _needs a makeover right now._" Lavender flipped her hair nonchalantly. "Let's go."

"Ginny's going to kill us if she sees Hermione like that on the ceremony," Parvati reminded her. "She _did _leave us a responsibility, remember?"

"I don't care." Lavender paused. "Wait. I _do _care, but as far as I'm concerned our job here is done. Now do you want me to curl your hair or not? Because I still have loads to do with my own hair, you know. And we only have, like, thirty minutes to do it."

"Fine." Parvati visibly brightened. "I like my hair to have strawberry blond highlights. It matches this pink I have on my eyes, and-"

"Oh!" cried the damsel in delight. "I quite agree. That's the shade that would bring out that olive skin."

Lavender beamed. "Exactly! Now come on, let's go to our room so we could get started."

"But what about Hermione?"

"She can take care of herself… in her own way. Now move it!"

The sound of their footsteps fading away was fine music to Hermione's ears. Now she got her wish; she was truly, wonderfully alone. There was no one to bother her now, no one to ask her if she was fine or what happened yesterday or if she had any plans of looking like a woman today - which fitted her mood perfectly.

She slept late and dreamed of nothing, a testament to how short a span she spent in bed. Like a puppet she crept out of the covers, showered, and dressed hastily, knowing that she had to look decent but not doing a thing to ensure it. Her hair was its usual jungle of tangles on her head, and her graduation robe was loosely draped on her in a haphazard fashion. But did she care? Of course _not._

Hermione frowned at the mirror, noting for a moment how pale and tired she looked. But, considering everything that had happened last night, she wasn't surprised at all.

She sighed. Knowing she only had a few minutes more before she'd have to go down, she grabbed the brush on her desk and dragged it through her hair. Meeting a lot of resistance, she gave up and continued with what she was doing before she was rudely interrupted: brooding.

Which, of course, was also the activity a certain cold-blooded bastard from hell was doing in his own room. Although what mainly differentiated him from her was the fact that he was already impeccably dressed and groomed to perfection.

Draco stared at himself in the mirror. Despite the gloom that his bedroom exuded, he refused to step out. He already tried that this morning, and to his utter dismay he was mobbed by squealing students all eager to have their last taste of Malfoy - which was disturbing, especially when Crabbe made that pathetic attempt to drag his stubby finger down Draco's cheek.

_Disgusting.__ Revolting. Gross! _

"Oh Draco, what a lovely thing you are," his mirror sighed. "A pity you're hiding your magnificent self in this room."

"I'm not hiding," he said stiffly.

"Really?" the mirror said shrewdly. "Then why don't you let a certain _Gryffindor_ see how-"

Abruptly, Draco threw a can of gel on the mirror.

Abruptly, it got the message.

He knew he was only postponing the inevitable by doing this. He knew that no matter what he did, he would still see a certain thickheaded, idiotically stubborn Gryffindor, who had nothing imprinted on her mind but the fact that _he _was such a cold-blooded Slytherin bastard from his own place in hell.

Which was certainly true, but that wasn't the point.

The point was that this was probably the last time they'd see each other, and if she chose to act like a complete idiot and blame him for a stupid misunderstanding then so be it.

If this was how they were going to part, then so be it.

_So be it. _

He'd endured her stubbornness for so long, he'd already forgotten what not-so-stubborn people were like. And, being quite stubborn himself, he refused to be the one to apologize for something he didn't do.

_You don't believe me? Fine. Deprive yourself of your last taste of me, you thickheaded, idiotically stubborn Gryffindor! _

He glared at himself in the mirror, imagining it was _she_ he was looking at, then shook his head to clear his thoughts. Already frown lines were beginning to mar his skin, but for once his concern was not centered on his looks, but on a certain thickheaded, idiotically stubborn-

"Being quite repetitive, aren't you?"

He clamped his mouth shut. "How the hell did you get in?" he demanded.

Pansy and Blaise looked at each other. Obviously he was still in an extremely foul mood after last night, so they knew they had to walk on eggshells that morning, because one wisecrack and Draco would push them over the ledge. One comment about him and Granger and that _thing _that happened and they might just be the next on his extremely long list of people he had to maim and hurt.

"Talked to Granger yet about what happened between you two last night?" Blaise asked pointedly.

Pansy gasped. "Eggshells! Eggshells, you stupid-"

But Draco waved them off with his hand. "I'll pretend you didn't say that," he said casually, turning to them. They saw that on his face was a serene expression he sometimes wore when he had blood and gore on his mind - which was almost always. "Pansy, what an extremely unfortunate robe you have on. Let me guess: a gift from your beloved Weasel?"

She lifted her chin indignantly. "What will you do if I say: yes, it is?"

He smirked. "Then I'll point at you and laugh to death, but that's too juvenile. Which brings me to my original question: what the hell are you doing here?"

"Ha!" cried Blaise. "That's _not _your original question! This thing with Granger's affecting your thought processes! Admit it!"

"_Zabini__-"_

"Fine, fine." Blaise folded her arms in front of her chest. "We got in through a magical thing called a _door _and the reason we're here is to let you know that some of the parents have arrived… and two of them are looking for you as we speak. Satisfied?"

Draco's serene expression vanished in an instant. "They're here? Already?"

Pansy nodded. "A _whole _lot of them are here, actually. I saw her parents-" She pointed at Blaise, "-talking to Millicent's. Some Muggles are also here - I didn't even know Potter's ugly family _can_ get in Hogwarts! Imagine that. Anyway, aside from my parents I think I saw-" At this, she reddened perceptively.

"Her future parents," Blaise clarified, meeting his eyes.

"Without a doubt," Draco muttered, disgusted.

Pansy cleared her throat. "Dumbledore sent all the parents to the Great Hall already. They aren't allowed to go anywhere else." She sent Draco a clear look. "You can still think of something to explain the romantic escapades that happened between you and… girl-with-extremely-bushy-hair-whose-name-I-will-not-mention-in-fear-of-my-life."

"What for? I don't need to explain anything," Draco said smoothly, wiping invisible lint from his clothes. "There's no need for it since nothing happened. Nothing has, and nothing will."

"Ooh. Harsh," Blaise commented blithely. "Also, a lie."

He glared at her. "Care to expound on that?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Defensive, aren't we Draco dear?" Blaise chuckled. "But don't be too complacent yet. The students should be assembling soon. Guess that means you can't postpone the inevitable any longer."

"I'll go down at the time of my own choosing," Draco pushed through clenched teeth

"Whatever. Come on, Pansy. Let's leave lover boy here to wallow in misery and pain. Happy Graduation!" And with that, she pulled Pansy along with her towards the door of the room.

"Are you sure we should leave him like that?" Pansy asked, tugging her hand free from Blaise's vise-like grip as they stepped outside. "After all, he _is_ wallowing in misery and pain. Which makes me deliriously happy as a Slytherin, but at the same time I wish he'd just swallow up his damn pride and go chase that thickheaded, idiotically stubborn Gryffindor of his."

"Growing a heart in that empty chest of yours, Parkinson?" she asked, grinning wickedly.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "You know as much as I do that _this _is the effect of being with a Gryffindor!"

"Ah yes." Blaise sighed appreciatively, thinking of Harry. "Ah yes."

"So?" Pansy asked again. "What are we going to do?"

Blaise was quiet for a few moments. "Question. Will our graduation be in the news of the _Daily Prophet_?"

"My mother said it will be."

"And of course, reporters will be here."

"Of course." Pansy frowned. "Why?"

A full-blown grin erupted on her face. "I have a plan."

The other Slytherin stopped short. "Really? _Another_ plan?" Pansy looked dubious. "That was quick. _Too _quick, if you ask me."

"I didn't." Blaise waved that off impatiently. "Come on! We still have to call on Harry and Weasley for help, since-"

"What? Why do we need-"

"I'll explain later - right now I have to return to our room, prepare a trap… if you see a house elf, order it to make some tea and bring it to the room."

"Tea? Why? What-"

Blaise rounded on her. "Do you want our story to end happily or not?"

Pansy huffed. "Of course I do. Even unfeeling, emotionally crippled Slytherins want that, you know!"

Blaise shoved her. Hard. "Then do as I say!"

And off these two girls went to start on their nefariously wicked scheme.

Unknowing that he'd soon be part of a grand conspiracy, Harry watched in grim satisfaction as his Aunt Petunia turned white with fright when Molly and Arthur Weasley went to them for a congratulatory hug. Mrs. Weasley was very proud and happy in Ron's graduating Hogwarts that she was hugging everyone, and _dear _Aunt Petunia was just too scared of what the witch would do to her once she tried to get out of the other woman's deathly tight grip. Mr. Weasley, in turn, was slapping Uncle Vernon's back.

"Stop it, stop it! Get off me, you-" Vernon said, catching Arthur's hand and throwing it off him. "HARRY! HARRY! HARRY!"

"See, now we know where the boy got his capslocky tendencies," Arthur said, grinning from ear to ear.

"HARRY!" Petunia screamed with all her might.

And before he was seen, Harry slipped out of sight - and ran smack into Hermione.

"Oh! Sorry, I-" Then he noticed her pallor and the dark circle under her eyes. "Hey," he said softly, worry on his face. "You okay?"

She glanced at him. "I'm fine," she said tightly.

It was a stupid question, since he could see that Hermione was far from being fine. And it was a stupid answer, since she knew Harry wouldn't believe it. Not in a million, trillion, _zillion_ years.

After he and Ron walked out of the Slytherin Common Room last night, they went straight to Hermione's room. They pounded and howled and threatened to tear the door open, just so she would let them in. And after a few minutes, she did. She had already removed her dress and was clad in her nightgown, with her face scrubbed clean and her hair down. Just by looking at her, Ron and Harry knew something was profoundly wrong. She was just so silent, so withdrawn. When they asked what happened in between hers and Malfoy's disappearance and the moment Ron found her crying, she pursed her lips and said, "It's nothing." When they asked her how she felt, she answered, "I'm fine." When they asked her if she wanted them to kill Malfoy for her, she shook her head and said, "Whatever. Really, I'm fine. It's nothing."

The pained expression on her face belied her words then.

And now, they failed her still.

"Look," Harry said loudly, "if this is about Malfoy-"

She winced. Then said, "I have to go." And she pushed against him and left in a hurry.

He stared at her as she departed, wondering how on earth he would approach the problem. _Blaise_, he thought. _Or Ginny._Right now they really needed a _female_ someone to ask the fragile questions and get the vulnerable answers, and with him and Ron being manly men they weren't _exactly_ the ones fit for the job.

"Well?"

Harry jumped at the voice, then turned to see Ron standing beside him. "What?"

"Did she say anything? Did you get her to tell you something?" Ron's expression betrayed his impatience.

"How long have you been standing there?"

Ron frowned. "About ten minutes."

Harry pursed his lips. "And you didn't come and help me ask her _why?_"

"Because I thought she'd be more open with only one of us hounding her. Not that we are. Unless you call us asking her if she's fine every five minutes 'hounding'." Ron paused. "Do you think we're hounding her?"

"Not at all," defended Harry quickly.

"Thought so. Wait. Hey Hermione!" he shouted. "Are you okay?"

Hermione shook her head in exasperation and disappeared in the line of students already forming in the middle of the Great Hall.

Ron glared at the space Hermione occupied moments ago. "Bloody-she's just so stubborn! Why is she so stubborn?"

"Because she's _Hermione?_" Harry said dejectedly.

"Right, right." Ron combed his fingers through his hair. "Bloody hell. This whole 'talking' thing is getting us nowhere. It's just so… _girly_. You know-" He faced Harry squarely, "-we should've just beaten Malfoy down to a bloody pulp yesterday. It would serve him right, the bastard." He puffed out his chest. "Plus, manly thing to do."

Harry nodded vigorously. "We should've. In fact, we still have few minutes to spare… why don't we do it now?"

Ron looked mightily pleased. "He'll be seen by everybody. Covered with bruises, what a lovely sight." Scanning through the grounds, he spotted the blasted albino hair walking to the hall and said, "There's that disgusting git. Let's-"

"Harry!"

"Ron, wait!"

They saw Pansy and Blaise bounding towards them, their faces pink with exhaustion. "What is it?" asked Harry, instantly curious.

"What's wrong?" asked Ron, instantly concerned.

Blaise took deep gulps of air, struggling to catch her breath. "We… Draco… ten minutes ago… we… had…on my bed…"

Harry immediately saw red. "_WHAT?_"

Pansy tugged on Ron's robe. "We have something to show you."

Ron screwed his face. "Ew! I don't want to see any of Zabini and Malfoy's nasty-"

"Shut up, Weasel!" Blaise turned to Harry. "It's not what you think. Just come with us and you'll see."

"What? Now?" Harry looked bewildered.

"Yes," Blaise said, taking his hand. "Right now."

"But… the march will start in a few minutes!"

"And my parents! And Harry's aunt and uncle! They-"

Blaise shook her head impatiently. "Don't worry. The parents have to do the whole bonding thing with the other parents so they'll be fine, but we have to go. Right now."

"We can sneak in later, it won't take too long," assured Pansy, taking Ron's hand.

"But-" said Harry.

"But-" said Ron.

"Did I mention that we have to move _right now? _I can't seem to help myself and overemphasize that we have to move _right now. Right now!_" snapped Blaise.

"But-"

"But-"

"Actually, we might be able to get back even before the march started if you both just move already!" Pansy shrieked, shoving Harry.

He glared at her and then looked at Ron, who shrugged in return. Knowing they were already defeated, he mumbled, "This better be important."

"Of course it is," Pansy snapped, already dragging Ron behind him. "Now move it!"

"Right-"

"Yeah, yeah, right now!" mimicked Ron, rolling his eyes at Blaise.

They sneakily moved away from the Great Hall, where already the students were lining up for the march.

Hermione barely even heard the gasps from the female population of the graduating seventh years at the sight of her disheveled self. She had just seen her parents ushered in, and they looked happy and proud albeit out of place. She had just seen Professor McGonagall congratulate them, before showing them their seats, which were near the front of the stage. Which were also near the place where Malfoy's parents sat.

Luckily, several other parents were occupying the chairs in between the two sets. But Hermione was still agitated; who knew what on earth Lucius and Narcissa would do to her defenseless parents? She had learned long ago that _absolutely no one_ in the Malfoy clan could ever be trusted. Even if there were a sea of professors that could prevent a fiasco if it was to occur, there might still be a-

Then someone bumped her shoulder, and she turned to the left… just in time to see a familiar figure coming towards her. The next thing she knew, _he_ was standing right beside her.

"Granger," he said, stiffly nodding.

"Malfoy," she returned, equally stiff.

It was a mockery of all the insulting, scathing remarks they had exchanged throughout the years. Today, their names were uttered not with loathing and hate, but with resignation and acquiescence.

"We're the valedictorians, so we both should lead."

"I know. I wasn't asking."

"Good. Just so you won't think I wanted to be here."

"I'm not."

Her palms were growing cold, and she physically restrained herself from fidgeting. She wouldn't give the bastard the pleasure of seeing how his presence managed to crumble her tired, drained attitude. She wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing how affected she was by _him_.

He kept his gaze on the stage, and dug his fingers on his palms. He wouldn't allow her to see anything but this too-polite, too-courteous façade of his. He wouldn't allow her to see how affected he was by _her_.

Moments ticked by, with this uncomfortable ambiance surrounding them. They didn't talk, look, even _breathe _in the other's direction. Professor McGonagall's voice, when it came, was a welcomed source of distraction and relief.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy." The professor extended her hand to them, and on her lips was a rare, warm smile. "Congratulations. You do all of us proud."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said softly, while Draco nodded.

"Now, I'm to inform you of what to do when the ceremony starts. You-"

"-lead these idiots to their seats and such? Yes, we know already," said Draco impatiently.

"Always so polite," said Snape, slinking towards them. He eyed Draco with approval.

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "After everyone has been seated," she said, as if no one spoke, "we shall immediately begin. After the giving of certificates I will call on you to give your speech, and then-"

Just like that, the world tilted for both Draco and Hermione.

"Our-" began Draco.

"-speech?" ended Hermione.

"Yes. Your speech." Professor McGonagall frowned. "Is there something wrong with it?"

Snape stared at them, an oily expression coating his face.

"Nothing!" said Hermione quickly. "We just-we-"

"We weren't informed of the time we are to give the speech," Draco said smoothly, covering his panic. "We thought it would be delivered at the end, not at the middle."

"You _are _to deliver it towards the end. Severus," she said, turning to the silent teacher, "weren't they informed?"

Snape continued to peruse them carefully. "Even if they weren't, I doubt that that will be a problem, seeing as they are both _well-prepared_." He smiled. "I'm sure they know the humiliation that will come to them once they _aren't_."

Hermione swallowed noisily, while Draco stared at him stonily.

"Very well. We will start in fifteen minutes. Remember what you have to do." Then Professor McGonagall tapped Hermione's shoulder and was gone.

A frighteningly placid look overcame Snape's features. "Everybody is certainly looking forward to your speech," he said, looking at Draco then at Hermione. "It is such an important part of the ceremony, that making a mess out of it will just completely… I really don't have to say it, do I?" Then he parted, his ominously oily grin leaving imprints on Draco and Hermione's minds.

Hermione swallowed again. She allowed herself to be consumed by panic for two seconds longer, and then… it was gone. She was calm, cool, collected.

She was also quite _dead._

"Nervous, Granger?"

She glanced at him, irritated that he didn't seem to be overwhelmed. "Aren't you?"

He sent her a confident look. "Of course not."

"Why not?" she demanded. "You should be. After all, even if you _do _have a speech prepared, with me not knowing my parts then it'll be useless. We'll still be humiliated."

Draco lifted his chin. "Speak for yourself. I happen to have-what are _you _doing here?"

The abrupt change in his tone made Hermione pause. Then she followed his gaze, and she found out that there behind her stood Theodore Nott.

For a moment, she became suspicious. "Nott?" she asked carefully. "What are you doing here?"

The animosity radiating from them caused Nott to frown. "I was asked to give you this," he answered Hermione, before he shoved a piece of paper into her palm. After that, he left.

It took extreme measures of self-restraint to keep Draco from grabbing and reading that note. "Who's it from? Not that I care."

Hermione bit her lip to keep from replying, before she read the note. She looked at her parents' place, and sure enough her mother was not there. She sighed, then moved towards the door.

Only Draco's hand on her arm kept her from taking another step.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his tone very low.

She stared at his hand.

He got the message.

"Fine," he bit out, releasing her from his grip. "Go."

She walked away quickly, and only until she reached the door did she let out the breath she was holding.

Hermione looked at the paper again. There, in her mother's writing, was a message that told her to wait outside the hall. She wasn't sure what brought about this request, but she was just too happy to oblige her mother. After all, _this_ would give her what she really needed - time and space to compose herself.

She hated to admit it, but his presence all but broke her down. He evoked too many memories, too many emotions that were better walled up inside her. And if this was how they'd part, with all the issues unresolved between them, then so be it.

_So be it. _

Her life was complicated enough, even without a relationship with a certain Draco Malfoy.

She didn't need all the difficulties _he _would surely bring to her.

Hermione peeked at the door, and at the commotion beyond it. _Good, _she thought. _It's not yet starting. _But where was her mother? What could she possibly-

"Granger."

She whirled around. And blinked. "Zabini? Parkinson? What-"

"We have something to show you," said Pansy.

Irritation flooded her immediately. "Can't it wait? I'm about to talk to my mother, and-"

"Oh, _that._" Blaise smiled largely at her. "Let's just say your mother forgot, so we're here to talk to you instead."

Hermione paused. "_What_?"

"It's about Draco," said Blaise.

"See here, Granger, to put it simply: you're wrong. Draco's-"

"I don't have time for this!" Hermione snapped. She waved the note angrily. "I don't know how you involved my mother, what tricks you did-"

"No tricks," interrupted Blaise. "I like your mother, Granger. She was willing to help us do something for you."

"You _talked _to my-"

"What the hell's taking them so long?" asked Pansy, looking around her in dismay. "Really, how difficult is it to-"

Her palms seriously itched to throttle them both. Hermione breathed slowly, before saying, "Will one of you just explain to me how-"

"Well finally!" Pansy said, pointing at something behind Hermione. "What the hell took you so long?"

Hermione turned around and saw Harry and Ron carrying - no, _dragging_ - a woman between them, which happened to be _the _wench she would've happily given anything in the world to murder. "What's going on?" she asked loudly, looking at her two friends.

"Ask her," said Harry, out of breath.

Ron ground out, "Just be _still _you-"

"Get off me, buffoons!" Georgiana kicked and screamed with all her might, but the hold on her was too firm. "Just you wait, Harry Potter! I wrote many great things about you in the _Daily Prophet_! And _this_ is the thanks I get? After this, I'll make sure that you're ruined! Ruined! That goes for you, and you, and _you_-"

"Shut up!" Ron roared.

"You can say anything you want about me," declared Harry. "If - and only if - you tell Hermione what you told us before."

But the reporter wouldn't hear any of it. "Veritaserum in tea! _Veritaserum__ in tea! _Abominable! If I get out of this, I'll make damn sure that you're all-"

"Harry, Ron-"

"Georgiana, darling," cooed Pansy, smiling daggers at the other woman, "as much as we'd love to hear you scream bloody murder, you have to shut up or else we'll do it for you."

"Through joyously painful means, I might add," said Blaise.

Georgiana abruptly closed her mouth.

"Very good. Now darling, you really have two options here. One, you tell Granger the truth and we'll let you go unscathed, or two, you don't tell Granger the truth and you can kiss your measly job goodbye."

The reporter scrunched up her face. "You-you can't possibly-"

Pansy just laughed. "You forget that my mother has powerful connections in the _Daily Prophet. _One word from her and you're fired just like-" She snapped her fingers, "-that."

Hermione closed her eyes. "Can't we all just let this go?" she said loudly. "This is pointless anyway. I don't know why you're doing this, but-"

"Shut up, Granger," snapped Blaise. "Just shut up and listen."

Hermione glared at her. "Listen to what, exactly? It's obvious that this wench-"

"HEY!"

"-won't be saying anything at all!"

Harry and Ron looked at each other before nudging Georgiana at the same time.

"Ow! No! I won't say anything; I don't care even if you have a boiling pot of oil and you'll plunge my-"

Then Blaise leaned and whispered something in her ear.

A flush of pleasure erupted over her features. "Really?"

"Yes. Really." Blaise motioned to Hermione. "Now talk."

"Fine, fine. I'll talk."

Harry and Ron released her at once.

Georgiana straightened herself, before airily declaring, "I wasn't Draco's date to the Ball."

Whatever Hermione was expecting, this was most certainly _not_ it. "What?"

"Technically, he didn't ask me to be his date. His mother did."

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she asked, "Why?"

"Why did I go, or why did _his mother_ ask me to go?" Georgiana asked shrewdly.

Hermione bit her lip. She didn't have to ask why Narcissa Malfoy told somebody else to accompany her son to the dance, since the woman's voice was still clear in her mind: _You're choosing a person of lower status than a Parkinson? Such nonsense, my son! _"The-former," she answered.

Georgiana shrugged. "I was tasked to write an article about that Ball, so I thought, why the hell not? I'd get first-hand scoop on things. Plus, that gorgeous pink gown was _really _a motivator. A really fine bonus, I might add." She gave Blaise a meaningful look as she said this.

The world tilted for Hermione yet again. "You're-you're lying." That was the only logical explanation for all this, because if this wench was not lying, then that meant… that meant…

That meant Draco was telling the truth.

And that was just… that was too-

"How _dare _you accuse me of lying! Me, an upholder of truth and justice, one who swore an oath to-"

"But you are! You have to be!" shrieked Hermione, pointing a shaking hand at the reporter. "I can't be wrong in this, I just can't!"

"But you are," mimicked Blaise.

Hermione glared at her. "_Shut up_!" she hissed. "You have no-"

"Hermione." The solemn voice belonged to Harry. "She's telling the truth."

_Traitor! _She turned to him, her thoughts clearly reflected on her face. "How would _you _know?" she spat.

"Because we slipped some Veritaserum in her tea, and she said the same thing." The one who answered her this time was Ron.

"Really, Granger, how much more proof do you want?" asked Pansy.

Hermione took two steps back, trying in her damnedest to digest everything she heard… _this can't be right, I have to-this is-no!_

_No!_

"So you'll have them delivered to my office?" asked Georgiana gleefully. "You know my address, right?"

Blaise nodded. "Every last piece. Now leave us, you're done here."

Georgiana greedily rubbed her hands together. "Let's all do this again. Only let's _not._" She sent one last withering glare at Ron, Harry, Pansy, and Hermione before walking away from them indignantly.

"Say, Blaise, I'm curious. What did you tell her?" Pansy asked.

Blaise grinned. "That I'd be sending her twenty pieces of pink, ruffle-y gowns. Sure did help that that woman had no taste whatsoever." She stuck her tongue out in disgust. "Eww! Can you imagine, twenty pink gowns in one room? I'd surely-"

"Hermione." Harry placed a tender hand on her shoulder. "Are you-"

"Why are you doing this?" Hermione looked up at him and Ron, tears visible in her eyes. "_Why?_"

"Because we're your friends," said Ron simply, taking one of her hands and squeezing it. "We don't want to see you hurting like this."

She swallowed the tears that was choking her. "Do you… do you realize what this means?"

The two exchanged meaningful looks. "Well-" began Ron.

"We do," finished Harry.

"And despite your severely masochistic taste in men-"

"Hey!" Ron snapped at Blaise. "We're having a conversation here, if you don't mind!"

Blaise huffed angrily at him before pulling a surprised Pansy along with her to the Great Hall.

"Sorry about that. Merlin, Harry. What do you see in that woman?"

Harry's face was placid when he said, "What do _you _see in Parkinson, Ron?"

Ron gulped. "What was I saying? Oh, yes. Look." He turned to Hermione again. "We hate Malfoy; don't get us wrong. We hate Malfoy to the point of us wanting to pound his ferret face every time we see him, grab his entrails through his mouth and then wrap them around the branch of-"

Hermione stifled a laugh at the mental image he was painting for her.

"-a tree to suspend him there, but my point is-" Ron looked blank. "Wait. I forgot my point."

"Enjoyed visualizing Malfoy's death, didn't you?" Hermione asked wryly.

Ron grinned sheepishly. "Yeah."

Harry continued, "Ron's point is that despite the fact that we hate Malfoy - and I think Ron made that part _especially_ clear - we're prepared to endure him because it's obvious that _you_ care for him."

"Just says a lot about your taste in men," Ron intoned before he could stop himself.

Harry and Hermione gaped at him.

"Bloody hell. Did I just say that?"

Harry shook his head. "Effects of staying around a Slytherin for too long."

Ron's ears purpled.

Hermione shook her head. "You don't have to," she said low. "I don't think he'd want to talk to me. I'm not sure if _I _want to talk to him." She bit her lip, and blinked back tears. "After everything I said, I'm not sure if I can face him again."

"Well, you have to," said Ron.

Hermione glanced at him in surprise. "What?"

"Because it's time we graduate once and for all." Harry took her by the hand and led her to the Great Hall, Ron following closely behind them.

She wanted to stop. She wanted to plant her feet firmly on the ground and never move again. She wanted to hide. She wanted to run away and disappear forever.

But clearly, neither Ron nor Harry had any intention of letting her do anything of that sort.

"Well look who's back," said Draco disdainfully. He glared at Harry and Ron. "Where'd you take her?"

"Wouldn't you want to know," Ron shot back.

"See you later, Hermione," said Harry, before the two of them moved away.

Draco looked at Hermione, who suspiciously tried to avoid his eyes. He frowned. A lot of questions were racing through his mind, itching to be voiced out… but that would permanently break his cool, icy façade. He wouldn't want her to think he actually _cared._ "Flitwick was looking for you," he said. "Where'd you go?"

Hermione glanced at him, and shame brought all her thoughts to a halt. _He was telling the truth. He was telling the truth and I_... "I just… I-"

He glared at her. Obviously, she didn't want to tell him anything. "Fine," he snarled. "Don't tell me. I don't care." He saw Dumbledore approach the stage. "Just be damned sure you have something in mind for the speech."

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, proud parents and dear students." Dumbledore smiled genially at them. "Another year has ended for all of us, but for some this means not only the end of a school year - this end means the end of school itself. Hogwarts has witnessed yet again a talented set of young wizards and witches ready to face the world with pride and dignity. In this momentous occasion, let us be one in celebrating the glory of today. Proud parents, families, loving guests, let us be one in welcoming - the graduating students!"

Warm applause greeted the seventh years as they made their march. Draco kept his eyes on the stage, not daring to look at anyone - _especially _his parents. Hermione smiled and waved at her parents, trying not to look beyond their seats.

"And now to welcome you all in this joyous moment, allow me to call on dear Professor McGonagall, Head of-"

The rest was a blur to Draco. He kept on glancing at Hermione, despite his valiant efforts not to. Her head was bowed low, her hands clasped tightly on her lap… what in hell could she be thinking of?

"Thank you, Minerva. Now, to say a few words about the graduating students, I will call on Professor Snape, Head of-"

Hermione closed her eyes. She had too much on her mind right now, and her priorities were becoming jumbled into one huge mess. What in hell was she to say in her speech? What in hell was she to say to Draco, in way of apologizing? _Should _she apologize? Would she dare speak to him, after all that had happened?

"Thank you, Severus, for the wonderful words. Now, I present to you Professors Sprout and Flitwick, Heads of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, respectively, to help me in distributing-"

Harry kept looking at the side, trying to meet Blaise's eyes. They had not yet discussed what they would do after this ceremony, in lieu of celebration. Would she go with him to Ron's house for the dinner Mrs. Weasley had prepared for them? But what about his uncle and aunt? A sly grin appeared on his face. Of course he could always leave them behind… say, in the _Forbidden Forest_, but then again…

"Abbott, Hannah! Aberfie, Shirley! Alfie, Marge!"

Blaise looked down on her hands. Only now was she hit with the intensity of what this graduation meant to all of them. It was literally the _end. _Would she and Harry even see each other, after this? If Harry was to stay in the wizarding world, then Blaise would make damn sure that they would. If he wasn't staying, then she would find a way to visit him every now and then. Her resolve made, she looked at the side, and caught Harry's eyes. Smiling, she waved at him, and watched in glee as he waved back.

"Lennard, Mae! Lendolyn, Christie! McAllister, Naomi!"

Ron turned around and waved at his parents. They pointed at the side, and when he followed their fingers he saw, to his delight, that all his siblings were also watching. He smiled largely at them. Then someone tapped him on the shoulder, a Ravenclaw whose name he couldn't recall. "Parkinson's calling you," he said. Ron looked beyond him and saw that Pansy was indeed looking at his direction. When he smiled at her, she took from her robes a small, red box, then smiled back at him. "For you," she mouthed, lifting the box up. Then her name was called, and she hid the box in her robes again before standing up.

"Patil, Padma! Patil, Parvati! Rogers, Claire!"

After receiving her certificate, Pansy returned to her seat. She saw that her parents were smiling and clapping for her when she got on the stage. But later on, when she would break the news to them regarding her and Ron… an even wider smile appeared on her face. Wouldn't they be shocked indeed? But then again, they wouldn't find anything to fault her for choosing him as her boyfriend. After all, Ron _was_ a Pureblood. If all went according to plan then her parents would have lots and lots of Pureblooded grandchildren, and then some. She grinned, then sent Ron a flying kiss.

"Crabbe, Vincent! Finnigan, Seamus! Garrison, Michael! Goyle, Gregory!"

Professor McGonagall approached Draco and Hermione. "After this," she said in a hurried whisper, "is your speech. Prepare yourselves."

They nodded in response, and the professor left again.

"Longbottom, Neville! Nott, Theodore! Potter, Harry! Thomas, Dean! Weasley, Ronald!"

Hermione swallowed nervously, bunching up her robes in between her numbed fingers. _So this is what it feels like to have the world collapse around you, _she thought, her eyes on the crowd. On the very expectant, _excited _crowd. She wanted to think for a moment, but the noise in the crowded hall was preventing her from doing any thinking of any kind. She wanted to ask Dumbledore if it was possible to give her a little more time to prepare, but with the Headmaster busy she knew she couldn't interrupt. _Oh God. _She was out of options. She just had to prepare herself for humiliation today.

Then again, what else was new?

Draco watched her eye the crowd, and in an instant knew her worries. He couldn't help himself; he laid a hand over hers. When she snapped her head around to look at him he mouthed, "Improvise."

"What?"

"Improvise." He squeezed her hand. "Just follow my lead."

Damned if he knew why he was helping her, even after all she said to him yesterday.

She nodded, squeezing his hand in gratitude.

"And now, I am very pleased and honored to present to you - a first in all of Hogwarts years - our valedictorians: Miss Hermione Granger and Mr. Draco Malfoy!"

Draco stood and offered his hand to her in a gentlemanly manner. Hermione accepted, and he guided her towards one side of the stage before proceeding to the other. Amidst the thunderous applause they faced the crowd together, smiles pasted on their mouths.

"Beloved parents, honored guests, fellow graduating students, a pleasant morning to all of you." Draco began in a confident voice. "As our beloved Headmaster has mentioned, this day marks another end of a milestone in all our lives, as we step off this school and enter a whole new world that awaits us." He looked at Hermione.

She met his challenging stare, took a deep breath, and plunged. "This world will provide us not only with a new set of challenges and obstacles, but also with opportunities and chances to practice what knowledge we have earned during our stay in Hogwarts."

"Our seven years in Hogwarts honed us in many ways, trained us to become many things - dependent and independent at the same time, for example." A burst of laughter came from the audience. Draco just smiled as if they were all idiots for not understanding his point. "A paradox, yes, but allow me to elaborate. We've learned to be independent - because we have learned to stand on our feet, to rely more on ourselves, on our abilities, than on another's. At the same time, we've learned to be dependent - because we now realize that sometimes we _have _to rely on others, most especially our trusted friends, in order to survive."

Hermione scanned the crowd, and smiled genuinely as her eyes found Harry and Ron. "Our friends made our stay worthwhile, and dare I say, entertaining and educational. They have given us cause to smile when all else forces us to cry, and offered themselves shamelessly to us if ever we need someone to lean on. Trust, friendship, love - these are intangible things that no book or lesson could teach us, yet within the walls of Hogwarts we have learned to give and take all three."

Draco's brows furrowed as he glared at Harry and Ron. "Of course," he intoned, "there will always be those whose sole purpose in this life is to make _my_ - I mean others' - lives a living hell." He purposely stared at Hermione.

She jutted her chin. "You _would _know about that, Draco Malfoy."

Chuckles once again filled the Great Hall.

"But then…"

Draco cleared his throat, realizing that everyone was waiting for him to continue. "But then, there are those who taught us to look beyond what our eyes can see, to consider others worthy not because of their house and _blood-_"

Hermione looked shocked, her eyes wide as she stared at him.

"-but because of _who _they are. Their heritage pales in comparison as their character becomes that which is important."

He was babbling, he knew. He was spouting nonsense that would probably land both his idealistic parents in St. Mungo's because of heart attack. But he couldn't stop. "Some of us may have stepped in this school thinking that blood and wealth are the most essential aspects in a wizard's life. But thanks to seven years of heartfelt education, we now understand that bigotry and prejudices are not - _should not_ - be the prevailing notions in our heads. We are all equal, because in the end our worth is not judged by our blood. In the end our worth is judged by what we _can_ do."

In this, Draco risked a glance at Hermione.

She looked about ready to cry.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have talked long enough. Thank you all for your time." Amidst the thunderous applause, he grabbed Hermione's hand and daringly dashed to the door. Only when they were alone did he let her go.

"Did you…"

Draco stared at her, his own face impassive. He silently goaded her to continue.

She did. "Did you mean what you said? About…"

He knew what she was talking about. Draco smirked. "No."

Hermione blinked, then her mouth opened to say a silent "…oh."

"Why?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Thought differently, did you?" Draco chuckled scornfully. "I'm a _Slytherin_Apparently, we don't have it in ourselves to say the truth. You said it yourself, remember? We are all such liars, so why should today be different? Why should _I _be different?"

She winced. Just as he wanted her to. "I-I didn't mean to-"

"Yes, you did." There was a hint of accusation in his voice. "You meant every word you said last night."

Hermione looked away, rubbed her arm with her hand. "I… I talked with Sinclair," she started quietly. "She said… she said…" She hung her head low. "I'm sorry."

There. Those two words, those two most difficult words, uttered out loud. It was the admission of defeat, the downfall of pride - and saying them to an enemy was the ultimate act of surrender, a humiliation proud people would never endure.

But she did.

And Draco knew that he should feel triumphant, gleeful even, at having her admit that she was wrong and he was right.

But now… all he felt was regret.

"I reckon you believe me now?" There was irony in his tone.

She nodded. "I'm sorry," Hermione repeated softly.

He was, too. But he didn't say it like she did.

Silence reigned over them, until she broke it. "What happens next?"

Draco honestly did not know. _What happens next? _He looked at her, and thought of everything that had happened between them… the schemes, the traps, the angry words… then the dance, the way she took care of him, the Graduation Ball…

_What happens next? _

He opened his mouth and this spilled out: "What are your plans for the next few weeks?"

Hermione stared at him, undoubtedly surprised at this question. Then, "I'm going back to London for a couple of months, then-"

"When will you be back here?" he asked.

"Well… that depends. I was planning on-"

"Next week."

She furrowed her brow. "What?"

"Next week," Draco elaborated. "Come back next week."

Hermione actually snorted. "Are you mad? That's impossible! My parents wanted me to go with them on vacation as a gift for-"

"I don't care about your vacation. Come back in a week."

"You're being unreasonable! Surely _your _parents also planned a-"

"You have to look for a job some time. Correct?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"And you _have _to work here."

"Of course I'll look for a job _here. _I mean if I were asked where I graduated I-"

"One week," Draco interrupted her.

She stared at him. Hard. "Three."

He dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "Three weeks is too long."

"One week is too short," she retorted.

"One week's long already."

Hermione cocked her head to one side. "Continue with that, and I might think that you're just saying that because you'll miss me too much if I'm gone three weeks."

"No. I'm trying to say…" He saw her smile. "Shut up."

"What? I'm not saying anything."

Draco uncrossed his arms. "All right, fine. Two weeks."

She rolled her eyes. "Malf-"

"I'll meet you at the station."

"You're-"

"9 AM. I'll be there at 9 AM."

"That's-"

"We'll go to my favorite restaurant and have lunch there."

"Lunch? At _9 AM_? Preposterous! Can't you-"

"Then we'll stroll down Diagon Alley and-"

"MALFOY!"

He started. "What?"

Hermione placed her hands on her waist. "You're just so… so…" She paused. "All right, fine. Seemed as though you've thought of everything, anyway."

"I'm making things up as I talk, but of course we'll do as I say." He smiled. "So be back in one week."

"You said three."

"No, I said two weeks." He smirked. "Who's the liar now?"

She shook her head. "You're just so… _impossible._ And arrogant. And conceited. And-"

"You just apologized to me three minutes ago, and now you're insulting me again?"

A contrite expression instantly crossed her face. "I'm-"

But before she could say anything else, he took her hand in his. "Just so you know, I'm not going to let you forget that you said I'm right and you're wrong."

Now there was an irritated look on her face. "I didn't actually _say _that I'm-"

"But-" he interrupted, "let's just say that I _will _forget. Only for today, mind you, since it _is _a special day."

"Fine." She squeezed his hand. "And just so you know, I won't ever let you forget that _you_ asked _me_ for a date."

Now there was an irritated look on _his _face. "I didn't actually _ask _that we-"

Then she kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you," Hermione said softly. "But later on, I'll have to kill you."

Draco frowned. "And why is that?"

"Because… you just let us walk out on our own Graduation, you idiot!"

**Author's Notes: **Well. And there's the end of the story. I'm so glad and sad at the same time… which makes me insane, but my point is that I'm glad that the story is over, because it's another completed fic of mine that I'm very, very, very proud of. Sad, because I'm going to miss thinking of twists that'll make you spin out of control… waah! I'm surely gonna miss doing this story… -cries softly-

Anyways, I'm very, very, very glad for every single review that you have bestowed upon this little fic. I'm so touched that, despite the fact that some of you are totally weirded out with the side pairings in this fic, you're still there, reading. Thank you, thank you, thank you. It's means a lot that you stuck with me this whole year. It also means a lot to the promotion of r/p, and h/g!b, hehe -hugs all readers-

Well, that's just about it for Divine Humiliation. For those who'd be requesting a sequel… I can't give a guarantee. But... here's an idea... is there anyone here who's interested to find out how D/Hr's first 'date' will turn out?

_"The sun has gone to bed and so must I… so long, farewell, goodbye!" _


End file.
